


Of Peacocks And Wolves

by AeantizLKamenwati



Series: The Shattered Elvhen [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Basically I'm terrible to my characters, Eventual Romance, Healing, Heavy Fluff, Light Smut, Love, M/M, Magic, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Sarcasm, Slavery, Some non-canon details, Tevinter, Violence, fluff maybe, slave AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-17 17:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 121,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeantizLKamenwati/pseuds/AeantizLKamenwati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the slave AU idea. Follows Falon'dir First of Clan Lavellan. </p><p>“Cracked, chained, shattered shards, sharp and bleeding, shackled together inside a cage. He still holds you captive, miles away yet his hand holds your heart. Shatter my walls. They need to come down, like an old torture room filled with so much agony the stones scream. Let your heart scream, bleed, cry and heal, healthy, whole. Let him go...The chains choke, corrode, corrupt a once innocent spirit, changing till it’s denied itself. Dangerous, damaged, demon, dead."</p><p>Falon'dir had always had an open heart, but eight years of slavery changed all that. Forced to damaging and degrading acts, Falon loses himself to numbness and fear. But with the help of a certain Altus and a nosy spirit, he might make it home yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> So I got inspired to do this by enc0432's Dissonant Verses. I've had the idea to do a slave AU since Dragon Age: Origins (because I'm far too interested in Tevinter for my own good) but never really _wanted_ to do it. Well that changed. So I hope I'm not stepping on anyone's creative toes. If I am please tell me, I'll fix it or delete it.
> 
> My elven is still developing so spelling errors are inevitable. 
> 
> Props to anyone who gets the play on words with the series/work title!
> 
> Carpe Diem!

_Snow fell quietly over the meadow in the northern Green Dales. Life seemed to stand still in white. No tracks broke the diamond crust. Hunting wasn’t their reason to be here, anyway. Falon smiled to himself, gripping Kalor’s hand tightly. The hunter squeezed him back, following behind. Their footsteps crunched loudly in the stillness of the day._

_Falon’s breath formed a white stream from his nose, walking to the other side of the forest. Not far from the clearing was a relatively clear patch of soft pine needles. The large trees towered above them, sheltering the two elves from the snowstorm. Falon’s heart started to beat faster as he stopped near the base of a large pine. As he turned, he pulled the other elf to him. Kalor glared playfully as he was pressed against Falon’s chest._

_“Careful, ma vhenan, you might trip.” Falon mocked. Kalor’s honey colored eyes narrowed even more. Falon could feel their heartbeats beating in a sort of disjointed harmony against his chest. Their breaths pooled between the short space them._

_“So long as you are there to catch me, I do not mind, emma lath.” Kalor answered. The hunter was slightly taller than the First, more muscular from hunting and scouting. His accent was deeper than Falon’s, more rich and gruff._  


_Falon smiled, the smile that only Kalor ever saw, his teal eyes brightening to a pale turquoise. Gently Kalor reached up and brushed blood red hair from Falon’s face. His fingers were cold, calloused from using a bow. Still Falon leaned against his hand, asking with his eyes. The First could see something was wrong in there. They were clouded, far away._  


_“I—“ he started, before looking down at their bodies mere inches away, hands intertwined. When he looked up again, he could not find the words. All the words he wished to say drowned in the seas of the mage’s eyes. Kalor felt as though he couldn’t breathe, staring into them._  


_“The Wild Kalor at a loss for words? I’m surprised!” He chuckled._  


_“Oh quiet you.” Kalor pushed the mage away from him playfully. Kalor was the wild one, the one who got into trouble, thought of insane ideas and dragged Falon along. Since he had come to the clan, he had often led the younger elf astray. So much so that Kaya, Falon’s mother, believed Kalor to be responsible for her son’s disinterest in the women hunters._  


_Falon’s laugh brought Kalor back. Snow caught lazily in the other’s long hair, creating a blanket of white over the red. Falon plated a braid on either side of his skull giving the impression of a down-mohawk. The braids were frizzing and decorated with feathers and dried herbs and various other things Falon could find._  


_“I just thought we were out here for hunting. Not…corrupting you, da’len…” He got a wry smile as he said the last words. Kalor was sure the clan knew what happened when they disappeared at the same time, but no one commented…except Kaya and Deshanna. But the Keeper was more angry at Falon shirking his duties as the First than having sex with Kalor in the forest._  


_“Ma vhenan, Grandmother said—“_  


_“I tease, emma lath. But you don’t honestly think I will take you on the pine needles, do you?” Falon’s cheeks became redder, not from the cold either. It was Kalor’s turn to smile as the other elf shifted slightly._  


_“You are impossible you know that?” Falon glared as he produced a thick fur blanket from his satchel. “I’m always the prepared one, remember?” Kalor laughed walking closer to him. He heard the First’s breath hitch as their bodies met. Their bodies were warm even through their armors, hot to each other in the cold. The hunter’s heart sped a bit faster feeling the mage’s heart pound in his small frame. Their breaths mixed. Falon smelt of incense and herbs, Kalor of woods and spices. Kalor pressed himself against Falon as he took the blanket before stepping away quickly. However brief, that contact was enough to make Falon curse under his breath._  


_“Dread wolf take you, vhenan.” He hissed, breathing a bit deeper to calm his heart which threatened to break his ribs. Kalor laughed as he disappeared behind some trees. Falon cast his eyes about, waiting for the other to show back up._  


_“Ooo, talk dirty to me some more.” Kalor teased from somewhere. Falon growled and turned around searching for him. Suddenly arms were around him from behind, pulling him snugly against Kalor. “How do you stay warm in those flimsy robes?” he purred in Falon’s ear. He knew how the other hated teasing. Falon was about as subtle as a mage could get, that is to say not at all. Falon snorted in response._  


_Kalor’s favorite thing, aside from his eyes, about Falon was his smell. Elfroot mixed with Crystal Grace and some other incenses the Keepers used. Reminded him of tea kind of with all the mingling of flavors. Which was ironic since Kalor hated to drink tea._  


_Falon’s robe collar blocked much of his neck, but Kalor rested his cheek against his, letting his heart calm down. He always worried about breaking the mage. He seemed so fragile; Kalor half-expected a snowflake to shatter him. Which he knew was ridiculous. Falon was a mage, capable of breaking every bone in the body with a single spell. Still, Kalor wished to keep him safe from everything that would harm him. Perhaps it was because he was to be the Keeper, perhaps because he saw the price Falon paid for his magic, perhaps that is what love meant to Kalor. Or a combination of the three, Falon did not know._  


_“How about we start a fire and see if we can’t stay warm for a bit before seeing about finding something to bring back to the clan?” Falon suggested after a little while. Kalor rested his chin on his shoulder and looked at him._  


_“I can think of several ways to stay warm without a fire, da’len.” Kalor playfully bit the other’s ear as Falon growled at being called a child. Kalor had very little right to call him such any more. He had long received his vallaslin, one of Mythal that covered his entire body no less. But Kalor loved to joke about how he was corrupting a child, given their slight age difference. Falon was eighteen, and Kalor was turning twenty-two next spring._  


_“I wasn’t referring to the fire.” Falon countered tactfully as he broke away from the hunter’s embrace. “Go find some firewood, hahren.” He shot back. Kalor put a hand to his chest and mocked being hurt. When he looked back at the mage, he was smiling. Falon, in his Keeper robes, looked very much like a Keeper. A very alluring and absolutely irresistible Keeper. Kalor swallowed, trying to calm the sudden need that rose. He wanted to kiss him again for the first time in weeks, to trace all the tattoos that mimicked trees over his coppery skin._  


_Falon snapped, catching the other looking at him with what was probably a hungry look. He smirked sweetly. His eyes glinted beryl for a moment before Kalor turned to the woods around them for firewood. Falon could make water burn so it didn’t matter if the logs were wet, so long as they would burn for a while. Kalor didn’t plan on leaving that area for a long time._  


*****  


Falon awoke, sore and burning. His fever was getting worse it seemed, causing him to dose often. Light hurt his eyes as he tried to look around. Dirty bricks, lit by a single candle, made his little room. Dirt was the floor as it was in all the other slave rooms. He could hear chains rattling as the other slaves moved about their work. The ceiling sprinkled dust on him as someone walked above him.  


A damp cloth gleaned over his forehead. “You’ll have to work if you wish to eat you know.” came a voice. Falon turned his head slightly, his entire body aching with the one motion. An elven girl, barely thirteen, sat by his bed. What was her name? She reminded Falon of a mouse. She had a small nose and a sweet face. Slowly a name drifted forward from his fever. Taerie. She was assigned his quarters. Or rather she chose to sleep in his room rather than hers.  


Falon coughed harshly. His body seemed to be about to break. His head spun and pounded. He was sure he’d die soon. He actually felt his ribs sticking out without needing to touch his torso. His neck itched and burned as his cold sweat collected under his collar.  


“I honestly don’t think I care if I eat or not anymore.” He heaved. He longed to be released from this body. To go where his dreams were. Falon stared back up at the ceiling. Taerie gently wiped the sweat from his brow. Her hands were shaking. He heard her breath quiver, making his eyes drift over to hers.  


The dark green eyes glinted like a cat’s from the light beside his bed. They were shimmering, tears threatening to fall. The girl had grown attached to the Wild Elf. He was strong where she was weak. He’d face down any threat, where she would run. He was like a big brother to her, keeping her from harm in this hell.  


“Don’t cry, da’asha.” Falon coughed. Taerie sniffed as she stared at the man. His ears were longer than hers, so was his hair. The master hated his hair, told him to cut it once. Falon refused, telling him something in elven. He was beaten for that. Falon laughed. He always laughed whenever the humans tried to punish him. It was frightening sometimes.  


But looking at the pale skin being pulled across his high cheekbones, and ribs, Taerie thought he’d break at the slightest breeze. She tried hard to think of Falon being just another body in the pit…  


She jumped feeling his cold hand wipe a tear away from her cheek. Quickly she rubbed her eyes and tried to suck the tears back in. He stared at her with stormy teal eyes outlined in dark circles. Bruises battered his body in various stages of healing. Scars cut across his odd tattoos that were made of little dashes. Large scabs decorated his back and torso from lashes. Still he smiled at her.  


“I will try, da’len.” He finally conceded. He couldn’t stand watching her cry. Falon didn’t understand her attachment to him. Still he could not, would not leave the child alone when she was scared to tears.  


He took a deep breath and heaved himself up, his body shaking horribly. His muscles strained and threw needles into him as they refused to move. He whimpered in his head as he took deep breaths. Taerie stood quickly, grabbing a hold of his arm as though he were some elderly that could not walk without assistance. But as he struggled to stand on tense legs, he was grateful for her to lean on.  


“If I have to clean, I think I’m just going to tie a rag on my back and lie down.” He muttered, receiving a nervous laugh as they began to stumble to the door.  


*****  


_The fire crackled loudly beside them. They were panting heavily, bodies glistening in sweat. Their clothes were sort of tossed into a pile at the end of the blanket. Falon gave a wry smile as he sat back on his heels. Kalor smirked and cocked an eyebrow at the man on top of him._  


_“Well? Did I win this time?” the First joked. Kalor absently rubbed his beloved’s thigh as he closed his eyes and laughed. When he opened them again, he smiled widely._  


_“You’ve gotten better, emma lath.” He admitted watching him grow smug. Falon leaned down so that their faces were inches apart. His hair fell over his shoulder, red tangling with Kalor’s deep brown._  


_“Ma’arlath.” Falon whispered against his lips._  


_“You’re so sappy, it’s like loving a talking piece of shemlen candy.” Kalor chuckled as he pressed his hand on the back of the mage’s neck, closing the distance. It was slow, sweet, hands roaming over the bare skin of the other. Not sexually, but memorizing the feel, the contours of the body. How soft Falon’s skin was, how Kalor’s was tough and taught, every little movement told a story. Falon felt Kalor shiver underneath him, the heat from sex wearing off. Slowly, he drew himself away, resting his hands on either side of the hunter’s head._  


_Falon’s eyes wandered about his face, noticing, not for the first time, the light sprinkle of freckles over Kalor’s nose. They were all but invisible at any distance, save this one, from his sun-darkened skin. Caringly, Falon reached up and traced his vallaslin. It was Andruil’s, a bow drawn back with a notched arrow._  


_Sometimes he found it hard to believe any of this was happening. That Kalor existed, that he loved Falon. At times, Falon would think he was dreaming and Kalor would leave the moment he opened his eyes. But it was all really happening. A smile broke over his face, one of pure contentment._  


_“Why are you smiling?” Kalor asked in the silence. Falon’s eyes drifted back to his. “I mean aside from just having sex in the forest with me.” His tone was light, but his eyes told Falon something was bothering him. They were hard, not the liquid honey he was used to._  


_“I was just thinking…In a few days, I get to have you every night if I wished.” Kalor looked surprised. He furrowed his eyebrows. Slowly he shifted beneath Falon, placing a hand on his back. Falon sat still as the hunter sat up, holding him on his lap. Their chests touched briefly before Kalor leaned back on one arm._  


_“You mean…” Kalor eyed him skeptically. Falon’s smile got bigger._  


_“Yes. Grandmother Deshanna approved of our match, ma vhenan. She told me this morning.” Falon watched as Kalor’s eyes widened, his breath stopping for a moment. Then his smile, the sincere smile Falon loved so much, spread across his face and his eyes turned into liquid gold. Before he could say anything else, Kalor gripped him closer and kissed him fiercely. Falon gasped in surprise allowing the hunter to slip his tongue into him. As they kissed, Kalor pushed Falon to his side then his back, climbing on top of him. Only then did he break away._  


_Fire burned inside Falon as they breathed heavily. Kalor stared into his turquoise eyes, smiling like a fool._  


_“She truly said we could bond?” He asked. Falon chuckled as he nodded. Kalor kissed him again, slower this time, still hot with passion though. When they broke, Falon was sure he was getting dizzy and intoxicated by Kalor’s scent. He breathed in a slow breath to calm himself. Kalor then narrowed his eyes playfully, still with the smile. “So you lured me out here under the false pretense of hunting?”_  


_Falon smirked, sliding his hands up Kalor’s well-toned chest. “Of course. And it worked perfectly…with some pleasing side effects.” He purred the last part. His hands caressed the side of the hunter’s neck before quickly undoing the tie that held Kalor’s hair back. The warm, reddish brown hair spilled to the side, creating a curtain._  


_“You little harellan…” Kalor growled deeply. Falon laughed. As he sobered, he noticed Kalor’s eyes softening as they studied his face. “So, what pray tell convinced the Keeper, hmm? I’m not exactly in her good graces for stealing you away.”_  


_Falon caressed his cheek with his fingertips. “Well, she allowed me to do this.”_  


_“Of course she did.” Kalor rolled his eyes sarcastically._  


_Falon chuckled, “I think she hopes I will calm you, vhenan. Or being bonded will settle you down a bit. She did take a lot of convincing though. Especially after you two had that heated…debate.” Falon grimaced remembering sitting between the two in the Keeper’s aravel. That was when Kalor had requested to bond to Falon. And made a poor case of it too. The two argued as they do, Falon was too young, Kalor was too irresponsible, Falon needed to be with a woman to continue the magic in his blood, blah, blah, blah. After the last one was thrown out, Kalor hissed something under his breath and stormed out. Falon stayed and tried his hardest to convince the Keeper._  


_“I bet your family just loves the idea of you marrying me.” Kalor’s tone was bitter. Falon turned his head to the side, not wanting to meet his beloved’s eyes. There was pain in them, the pain of having to deal with the accusatory looks, the poisonous attitudes and snide comments whenever he was in their presence. And never letting them hurt._  


_“I-I haven’t told them yet.” Falon admitted quietly. “And I don’t really want to, to be honest.” Kalor saw shame cloud his eyes. Why? He wondered to himself. Why are you ashamed? You have no control over your family. Gently, Kalor turned Falon’s face back to him, smiling sadly._  


_“You should tell them, emma lath.” Falon’s eyes looked to the side. “I’ll be right there with you. You’ll have nothing to fear so long as I breathe.” Kalor’s words had such a serious tone that Falon looked up at him. His face held no signs of joking, it was grim, solemn. He was promising to be his Guardian. Falon blinked at this side of Kalor, finding it strangely attractive._  


_Then that lop-sided grin creeped out. “And I have my daggers.” He added jokingly. “We’re kind of screwed if I don’t have my daggers.” Falon laughed._  


_“You’ll have my magic, vhenan. You’ll have my magic.”_  


*****  


The lash woke Falon this time. It burned as it struck his skin. Despite himself, he let out a cry. His back twitched as pain shot through him again. The crack of it echoed around the hall. Falon squeezed his eyes shut to block out the tears. He would not let them see him cry. He would not let them think they had power over him.  


He knew he was only fooling himself. The magisters had full power over him. Whether he lived or died, it was up to them and their whims. And he could not do anything but hiss or growl at them. He couldn’t lash out with his magic; no, if he harmed a magister, all the elves would be harmed or killed in return. And despite he being the only Dalish in the house, he felt compelled to protect them. Keeper’s instinct he supposed.  


Falon’s knees finally gave as another lash hit his right calf. His body was hot and sweaty from working with a fever. His muscles were crying to rest. His heart ached at the memories that haunted his sleep. He prayed to the Creators that this would be the last day he had to endure.  


“On your feet, slave.” The man didn’t have to yell. His voice was clipped, cold and venomous like a snake’s hiss. The very sound made Falon’s skin crawl. He made a disgusted face as ghost feelings of the man’s hands roamed his body. Boots echoed off the tiles, coming closer. Falon saw the Overseer’s face appear in the polished ivory tiles and glared at them.  


A hand grabbed a hold of Falon’s hair and yanked his head back. His neck flared in pain as it was bent to its limits. Falon bit his tongue trying to push the pain away. He wanted to give in and just let the humans do what they wished. But he’d remember Kalor’s eyes, their defiance.  


“I said, on your feet.” The shemlen spit onto Falon’s face. Falon glared, imagining the most brutal death he could think of for the man.  


“Go to hell.” Falon spat. The hand left his hair, only to smash into the side of his face. Falon heard his jaw pop, tasted blood in his mouth. He glared at the floor for a moment before righting his jaw. Pain bloomed, racking his mind as though he was being flayed alive. Falon looked back up at the man who’s job it was to oversee the slaves. His eyes shown with defiance, drawing from a seemingly endless pool of willpower. “My mother hit harder than you, shemlen.” He hissed.  


The human snarled, twisting his ugly face. The next thing Falon felt was his boot slamming into the side of his skull. The human was rather short, so there wasn’t much leverage he could use when Falon was on his knees. Still it knocked the elf to the side, his brain rattling about his head. He wasn’t comprehending pain at that moment until he felt the boot kick his ribs. He winced, losing his breath. Another kick came, this one his gut. If Falon had anything to throw up he was sure he would have. The kicks kept coming. Pain bloomed from areas that were already sore.  


He tried to curl in on himself to protect his vitals. This lead to stomping on his legs. Falon wanted to scream as he found new pains everywhere. Tears threatened to fall. The human was yelling something, but all Falon could hear was his heart and the sound of his flesh bruising. He stared across the ballroom behind the human. Taerie shook her head, covering her mouth as she quivered. The other slaves were wincing around her, some merely continued to scrub the floor.  


_Laugh,_ Falon told himself, _laugh, take their power away…_ Falon drew in a sharp breath as he was kicked in the shins. And he forced a laugh passed his lips. It was quiet at first, then another kick came to his body. He pushed the laugh out, a bitter, angry sound, but still a laugh. With each new wave of pain, the laugh grew in volume and soon Falon sounded completely mad.  


The Overseer grew angrier, having the elf laugh laugh at him. He stopped, glaring down at the quivering body. Still the damned elf laughed, and then he turned his bright eyes to the Overseer’s. A defiant and almost-sadistic smile stretched across his face as the laughter quieted. The elf’s eyes flashed wildly. He hated the red-haired knife-ear the most. The human gritted his teeth, hate and anger spiraling deep inside his body like a tornado that broke everything in its path. He gripped the whip tighter preparing to beat the elf bloody to make him learn his place.  


Just as he rose the weapon, heels clicked on to the tiles. “Now, Caro, you know ivory stains easily.” A cool and crisp voice called in Tevene. Caro froze, looking over his shoulder. The lady of the house, Devanne, stood like a statue of ivory herself. Pale blonde hair elaborately done up in a bun, cream-colored dress accenting her tiny figure. All the slaves dropped their heads and went back to cleaning the tiles for tonight.  


“Y-yes, my lady.” Caro finally answered, turning and bowing deeply. “I apologize for my thoughtlessness.”  


The elf laughed loudly behind him. Caro rose quickly and kicked the man in the stomach, hissing for him to be quiet.  


“Is that the Dalish? Sicarius?” Devanne asked, her tone betraying nothing. She didn’t keep it a secret she enjoyed the look of the slave with his exotic markings, even healing wounds that would have marred them. Caro winced looking at the elf with a glare.  


“It is, my lady. He is refusing to work.” Caro answered merely turning his head towards her. She walked forward calmly. The train on her dress glided smoothly behind her. She stopped next to Caro.  


“Rise.” She commanded, cold brown eyes staring into the elf. Falon hated her the most of all his masters. She enjoyed watching him be touched, kissed and whipped. She found sadistic pleasure in making other slaves do things to each other. She loved touching him herself sometimes too. Her hands always felt diseased, sickening his very being when she touched him. He glared up at her, hating how similar her eye color was to Kalor’s.  


When he would not do what she demanded, she rose a hand, magic drawing around her. Falon tensed waiting for the shocking pain that would make him writhe. He could reach out and nullify her, but his mind was still reeling. His body had no energy anymore. Even just lying there, Falon nearly fell back asleep despite the enormous amount of pain that was now everywhere in his body.  


“Mistress,” A timid voice spoke up, stopping the witch. Falon’s eyes darted to Taerie who still bowed her head, but had spoken. The mistress turned slowly, disgusted at the young girl. “I apologize, but Sicarius has been ill with a fever these past few days. It has not broken yet, mistress.” Taerie’s eyes darted up once, to gauge the woman’s reaction. Falon couldn’t see the magister’s wife’s face. “I told Master Caro not to make him work, lest it might kill him, but he insisted. Sicarius only agreed to please you, Mistress.”  


Falon wanted to growl, to yell that pleasing that asp of a woman was far from his concerns. But the little elf shot him a glare that reminded him too much of his little sister. So he kept quiet; he would try to remember to lecture her on lying for him.  


“Oh?” The witch cooed, walking to the small child. Taerie shrunk under her shadow, shaking visibly.  


“I had told him of your party, so he wished to serve, to ensure his mistress was properly taken care of.” Falon nearly vomited from disgust. The woman looked back to him on the floor. He did not look at her, instead he glared at Taerie for such a despicable lie. She pleaded with him with her eyes. She looked like a scared little animal, her mousy brown hair falling raggedly around her round face.  


“Caro, fetch an apothecary and see Sicarius back to his room—with food. I want him ready for tonight as well.” She waved her hand at the other human dismissively. Falon heard Caro growl lowly as she walked out the room. Falon was yanked up by his hair and dragged back to the slave quarters.  


Taerie let out a long sigh of relief as the Dalish disappeared down into the depths of the kitchens. She wondered briefly if all Dalish were as insane and hostile as him before she began polishing the floor again.


	2. Don't Drink The Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Lavellan meet for the first time...and we get introduced to a very special girl.

Dorian practically fumed as he stared out the window of the carriage. His parents sat opposite him, his father equally angry. Dorian’s little sister, Adelina, hugged their mother’s arm, probably a tad frightened by the spat. That pained him, but only because he was sure she didn’t understand why they were fighting. His mother merely fanned herself and continued to chat with the woman beside Dorian. Livia Herathinos, his apparent betrothed. He and his father had argued about it to no end the last few days.

Mostly the arguments were about how he needed to grow up, or keep everything he was hidden. Naturally Dorian fired sarcastic remarks as rebuttal. Now it seemed the two couldn’t be in each other’s company for more than a few minutes before it turned into a venomous spat.  


It wasn’t that Livia was hideous. She had perfect teeth, curly amber-colored hair, and silver eyes that reminded him of wolf. And a wicked tongue. Both of them despised having to marry the other. Both of them were equally miserable and traded coy insults whenever they spoke. Still Dorian put on the suit his mother picked out and got in the carriage with her. He kept hoping that his father would realize his son was screaming on the inside.  


But he was beginning to see he wouldn’t.  


The carriage bobbed to a stop in front of a mansion all lit up with thousands of lanterns. There were plain ones, ones made of stained glass, ones crafted into animals, you named it, the Aelianus’s probably had it. It was like the entire house was lit by the sun…It was incredibly tacky.  


Dorian frowned to himself, trying to find some shred of his usual devil-may-care demeanor. All he found was bitterness. Slaves quickly scurried to place steps at the door and open it. They were well-dressed, glittering in white silks with false gold adornments. The elven ones had golden ear wraps in ornate designs. As Dorian stepped out of the carriage, he noted the designs were dragons or snakes, symbols of the Imperium but not House Aelianus’s roses and suns.  


The slaves bowed to the Dorian and Halward before helping the women out, bowing as they did. Such well trained little things…  


Even out in the night, music could be heard playing. Glasses were being clinked, guests were talking and slaves were hurrying. It was so terribly predictable. Dorian sighed to himself, masking his displeasure as he offered Livia his arm. His mother gave him the motherly eye as though she was telling him not to play in the mud. Adelina held her hand tightly. She’d end up playing in the gardens with the other small children, which was why her little short dress wasn’t silk or something else ridiculous for a child to wear. He rolled his eyes as he escorted his lucky betrothed into the glowing mansion.  


Tonight was going to be dreadfully dull, Dorian thought bitterly.  


*****  


So far all Dorian had gotten out of this party was a few dances with Livia, which weren’t prizes (she purposefully stepped on his feet, he could swear it), a few glasses of overly spiced wine, again not a prize, and a scolding from his mother, or rather what seemed to be a pleasant chat with his mother when she was really saying craftily created insults about his manners. Oh and a headache. He had one of those too.  


He made polite chit chat with the few guests he knew, some fellow Altus mages from families that Dorian didn’t care much for. When they moved on, he stood by the terrace door to catch the cool breeze floating in, sipping his wine. Livia was dancing with some other Altus. Dorian doubted he got his shoes maimed by her.  


“Enjoying the party, Dorian?” came a familiar voice. Dorian turned his head, a smile already breaking his face.  


“Of course, I just love these vulgar displays of wealth and overly-spiced wine.” He jested. Felix laughed as he came to stand by Dorian’s side. Dorian nodded towards Alexius who nodded in greeting as well from the front door where he was trapped listening to some magister.  


“It can’t be as bad as last year’s.”  


“You haven’t drank the wine yet, have you?” Dorian muttered sarcastically into his goblet. He scanned the ballroom. The ivory glowed gold in the candle light, polished no doubt for most of the morning by the slaves. The white walls were decorated in tiny crystals that reflected the light, giving the appearance that the entire hall was gold.  


“That bad?” Felix noted Livia twirling about in her sapphire blue dress. “Livia looks nice…” Dorian snorted.  


“Yes so much nicer when she’s not purposefully stepping on your shoes or slinging insults at you.”  


“My aren’t we just the little ray of sunshine tonight…” Dorian laughed and shook his head at his friend.  


“I apologize, Felix. How are you, my friend?” Before Felix could answer, an elf walked up to him, carrying a tray of wine glasses.  


“Would like something to drink, sir?” The way he spat the word sir, it sounded like an insult. Felix and Dorian both looked at the man who merely returned their gazes with a steady gaze of hate. For a second Dorian thought he might drown in the stormy sea colored eyes. “I’d stay away from the brandy, pretty sure one of the flat-ears spit in it.” The elf said flatly. The slave collar was polished so it shone as though it was a piece of jewelry.  


Dorian furrowed his eyebrows at the elf. He was pale underneath the natural copper-tone of his skin. The hateful eyes were outlined in dark circles and it seemed as though he was sweating. Which was odd considering he had a white see-through shirt that shimmered gold at certain angles. The shirt showed the strange designs tattooed on his body. They reminded Dorian of roots and trees actually, made of tiny dots that weren’t connected and blood red. His ears were adorned extravagantly. The cuffs outlined his long pointed ears in tiny diamond-shaped crystals that formed into a perfect tip. Gold chains hung and held tiny stars and suns made of amber from his ears. Obviously he was one of the favored slaves.  


“And don’t try the white wine.” The elf was looking at the drinks on his tray.  


“Why pray tell?” Felix asked, eyeing the elf oddly.  


“Pretty sure someone spilt vinegar in it…Or that it may be vinegar itself.” Dorian laughed drily. “So you want something or not, shem?” Both men’s eyes snapped to the elf, offended. He stared blankly; Dorian noted he shook slightly, the liquids in the glasses never settling. And that he had surprisingly no bruises or lashes on him. His deep auburn hair, two braids on either side of his skull created a sort of Mohawk style that was then braided down his back, shone with golden highlights even. He was a bit thin, but that was just how elves were, no?  


Dorian was about to snap at the elf’s bad manners, possibly get the little demon lashed, when Felix spoke up “I am fine, thank you.” Dorian and the elf looked at him oddly. That man could not be offended by anything it seemed. You could be doing a blood-magic orgy and Felix would probably try to bandage your wounds.  


“Ma nuvenin.” The elf growled.  


“What?” Dorian hissed. The elf turned his acidic gaze to Dorian. If looks could kill, he was pretty sure he’d be burning right now. His nose twitched, like something tickled it.  


“Ma nu-ve-nin. As you wish.” Dorian was pretty sure that wasn’t what that meant. He narrowed his eyes at the little blighter who returned the glare easily. Felix looked between the two and then off towards something else.  


“It appears my friend is nearly done with his wine.” Felix snatched the glass out of Dorian’s hand and placed it on the tray, taking another one and all but shoving it into his hand. The elf watched Felix before turning his head to the side like he heard something. Dorian looked that way and saw Caro, the Aelianus’s slave overseer, in his fancy suit glaring at the elf as though waiting for an excuse to beat the shit out of the thing.  


“Enjoy the party.” The elf spat as he walked away. Dorian glared at the elf’s backside.  


“Quite the little spitfire, isn’t he?” Felix commented when he was gone.  


“And an ass.” Dorian snorted. He shook his head and sipped his wine. He winced at the amount of flowery spices this glass had alone. Like someone dumped a perfume bottle into the wine.  


“I think he was Dalish.” Felix noted.  


“Dalish?” Dorian asked, merely to keep the conversation going. The glare that man gave was icy, as though he could freeze Dorian’s soul. It still shook him a tad at the amount of hatred he had.  


“Elves who apparently roam around the wilderness and refuse to be a part of human society. They tattoo their faces with symbols at a certain age.” Felix explained. Dorian laughed.  


“And where did you hear that?”  


“I read it in a book by Genitivi.”  


“Must have been dry reading.” Dorian commented and continued sipping his drink.  


*****  


The night went on slowly. Dancing, mingling, and staying away from the drinks. Dorian’s head was swimming a little, a faint blush on his cheeks as he was forced again to dance with Livia. He had danced with Adelina briefly, the little four year old just giggled when he twirled her around. But the child soon ran off to play with the others out in the garden. A few slaves were watching them, making sure they didn’t get hurt or break anything, so no one thought anything of the young ones.  


Instead they connived and mingled all in one breath. It was rather despicable. Dorian watched, seeing how threats came out as compliments. Insults were disguised as benign comments. It was all tiring and made his head hurt.  


That was when the red-haired elf reappeared. Dorian caught glimpses of him before. He weaved through the crowd easily but started to shake more, and as the night wore on, he seemed to get worse. His face became paler and more sickly. Dorian wondered to himself what kind of host would allow their guests to be served by a sick slave.  


The strange elf came in from the garden, serving the children water probably. He walked briefly passed Dorian, heading for the kitchens with something in his hands. It took a moment for Dorian to realize it was Adelina’s sash. He furrowed his eyebrows. Did he steal it? Dorian looked back at the gardens; Adelina was happily running about, so it wasn’t as though the man assaulted her. Still he looked for the elf, quickly spotting the red hair in the crowd. Dorian sat his glass of water down and waded in.  


The elf was slower so it was easy to catch up to him. “So might I ask why you have my sister’s sash in your hands?” He queried when he was close enough. The little elf jumped and spun around, fear written over his face before it turned back to the shear bitterness. Now though it was more tired and not as sharp a stab to see the glare.  


“Era seranna ma?” If he had not phrased it as a question, Dorian would think he was insulting him again. Dorian just stared at the man with a questioning eye. Suddenly a light flickered in the elf’s eyes. “Ir abelas. I said excuse me?” Dorian stared at him for a moment, the strange language just muddling his brain.  


“Well, I asked why you have my sister’s sash?”  


The elf looked down at the sage green sash. “The child had stained it while playing. On one of the berry bushes I think…” The elf held out the sash, showing the blue stain that was on is surface. “She was upset so I offered to clean it…it’s a simple enough stain.” He turned his head to the side like he was truly contemplating the stain. Dorian cocked an eyebrow not expecting him to actually care about a human.  


“Oh…well…Just making sure you aren’t going to tie it to a long rope made of stolen scarves.” Dorian joked. The elf looked at him with a dead look that instantly ruined Dorian’s mood.  


“Scarves could not hold even my weight. Moreover, silk rips easy.” Dorian nearly laughed at the dead serious tone. The man had apparently thought of escaping many times to have this down to a science. Dorian snorted before waving the elf away; the man glared weakly before disappearing to the servants’ quarters.  


Dorian went back to his spot near the terrace. Felix joined him there soon after, cheeks flushed from dancing with his own betrothed, Reine, who clung to his arm still. Felix introduced them, with a smile on his face before the three began an amusing conversation of critiquing the ballroom guests’ manner of dress.  


Not ten minutes later the elf reappeared, heading towards the garden with a slightly damp sash in his hand. Dorian had a gut feeling that something was wrong long before he noticed the elf wobble. He just didn’t know how bad. The elf’s eyes were glazed like he was having a hard time focusing on anything. He vaguely kept track of the conversation still going on, but began to note the ragged movement of the elf’s chest as he stumbled through the crowd.  


Then he fainted. Dorian’s eyes watched as the elf’s knees buckled and his eyes rolled. As he fell, the Dalish as Felix called him reached out and grabbed a hold of something to catch himself. That something turned out to be a woman’s arm. She shrieked and jumped away, into another servant who was carrying a tray of wine, which spilled all over the guests nearest him. More yelling and cursing began as the elf hit the ground in a series of coughs that sounded closer to a plague.  


All this happened in a few seconds. Dorian’s eyes went wide at the sudden chaos, amused at the reactions. Felix looked at the elf concerned, his fiancée covered her mouth with a gloved hand. Dorian noted the sash which the Dalish was trying his hardest not to get dirty again. He sat his glass down and was about to walk over to him when the elf convulsed and fell to the side.  


Dorian’s nose twitched at the sudden flare of magic. Everyone scattered away from the elf as he writhed, electricity sending him into spasms. With the amount of metal on him, it had to be painful…not that being electrocuted wasn’t painful as is. Dorian glared in displeasure, not at the elf but at the magister’s wife. Her eyes were blazing in anger. The way her face was twisted made her seem more than revolting.  


The elf made a noise, quietly as the shocks stopped for a moment. Dorian thought it was a whimper, then another bout of lightning was shot out. It sounded like a scream, until you listened. It was laughter. Felix and Dorian shared a look of differing stages of horror. Felix wore his heart on his sleeve sometimes, and was physically disturbed by the chortle. It was bitter, sickly, sad, and was so far from being what one might consider human it sounded more like an animal. It was fake made true like the elf forced himself to laugh until he himself believed the punishment was funny. It unsettled Dorian as well, sent shivers through his spine and knotted his stomach.  


Then Adelina tugged his sleeve and broke the spell. He looked down at her. Big silvery blue eyes looked in confusion at the elf. Her little black eyebrows were practically knitting a sweater. He bent down and gently turned her face to look at him.  


“Lina, you shouldn’t watch that.” He told her, she frowned at him. He had to ignore the laughter to try to not show her how bad it was. Still he couldn’t block it out completely and the little girl could probably tell anyway.  


“Why are they hurting Sicarius? He was just going to clean my sash so Mama didn’t get mad.” She lisped slightly as she looked back at the elf who was literally smoking. Burning flesh invaded all their noses. Magister Aelianus had grabbed his wife’s hand and nullified her magic. The laughter died down slowly as the elf stilled. For a moment, Dorian thought he was dead. He hoped he was dead.  


“Enough!” the magister hissed as his wife ripped her arm away. You could just feel the hatred between the two. Dorian looked in disgust, that was his future soon. To loathe the woman who he had to call wife.  


Dorian shook his head and looked back at his baby sister; he swore he saw tears in her eyes. Ah, children, he thought, always thinking their actions caused everything to do with everything in the world. He could have laughed at her innocence, but he doubted that help. Not that he knew what actually would help.  


Swiftly he picked her up and turned towards the elf. “He fainted and inadvertently caused some wine to be spilt on the guests’ silks.” He muttered. She wrapped her arms around his neck, never leaving the elf.  


“What does inadvertently mean?”  


Dorian sighed, talking to her was difficult. He was so much older than her and he had no experience with small children prior to her.  


“He didn’t mean to.” Felix answered. Dorian smiled at him. Adelina adored the man as she adored very few people. Reine looked at the little girl then at Dorian, telling him with her eyes to not let her watch this.  


“So why are they hurting him?”  


“Because he shouldn’t have.” Dorian said in an exasperated tone.  


“But you said he didn’t mean to.” She protested. For a four year, she was pretty clever. She glared at Dorian with a pout on her face. That adorable little pout that won every petty argument they ever had. And got him to sneak her treats more often than not. “If he didn’t mean to, he shouldn’t get hurt.”  


Dorian sighed. “It’s…just how it is, Lina.”  


“But it doesn’t make sense!” She growled looking back at the elf who began to move.  


“No it doesn’t. That’s the worst part of it.” Dorian watched him as well. Blood trickled onto his white shirt from his collar, burns showing as an angry red in the lights. His body had quit smoking, but the jewelry was still. It looked like they may have been cauterized to his skin actually. The thought made Dorian’s stomach churn.  


“Lina why don’t you go back and play?” Reine suggested, offering to take her. The little devil turned her glare at the woman.  


“No.” She stated bluntly.  


“Adelina Nephine Pavus.” Dorian’s voice held an uncharacteristic authoritative tone. Internally he grimaced, thinking of how much he sounded like their father. The child quickly dropped the glare and became meek again. “You will treat your elders with respect.”  


“But…”  


“No buts about it.”  


“He still has my sash though.” She whimpered.  


“It’s just a sash.” Reine commented bewildered.  


“But it’s mine.” That made Felix chuckle. Dorian turned to his friend with an unamused stare.  


“She sounds just like you.” That earned him a glare. Before he could think of a comeback, a loud cough echoed through the chamber. The magister had been arguing with his wife about all this, not unlike how Adelina had argued either. Meanwhile, a crowd had gathered to watch what they probably thought would be the execution of a slave.  


Sicarius, the elf, had began to cough, blood trickling out his mouth as he did. Dorian winced wondering what had been done to him exactly. And was amazed as the elf began to right himself, shaking and quivering. His eyes were determined. Through what had to be sheer willpower, he managed to wobble to his feet. His breathing was erratic and his muscles were spasming, but he was standing.  


Dorian blinked as the elf zeroed in on his sister. He was pretty sure the man was going to pass out any moment. How could anyone still stand after being shocked till your skin boiled? How did his heart not explode anyway? Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. The only way he’d still be alive was if he was able to pull enough magic from the surroundings to create a barrier over himself, or over his heart at least. But he’d have to be a mage…Again Dorian’s nose twitched.  


The slave ignored everything else as though he couldn’t see anything but Adelina in Dorian’s arms. He gripped the sash so tightly his knuckles turned white as he took a step forward. The red-head swayed but managed to stay upright. Murmurs were zipping through the crowd as the man staggered forward. The magister yelled for the slave to stay still, but elf may as well have been deaf.  


Dorian was pretty sure the elf was going to get himself killed. That thought somehow twisted his insides. Perhaps because it was just another vulgar display of power, or perhaps because the elf had been doing what might have been his only kind act of servitude. Dorian winced at his thoughts. Servitude wasn’t kind; people served because they usually had no choice, but were they better off? No. They’d be poor without a hope of eating everyday. So it was a sort of kindness to allow them to have a home and food. Yet, Sicarius hated them for it…  


Adelina twisted out of his grasp and jumped to the floor, snapping him out of his thoughts. She started to move towards the slave, but thankfully Reine caught her and held her back. She squirmed, stamping her foot as the woman pushed the girl behind her and glared at the elf. Sicarius paid little heed as he all but collapsed to his knees in front of them. He gave a shaky smile, holding out the sash.  


“All clean, da’asha.” Reine snatched the green fabric out of his hand and glared. He looked up at her briefly. Dorian noted how dead his eyes seemed. He almost preferred them with hatred in them. This was like staring into nothing, drowning in nothing, being nothing. He swallowed bile as the lash hit the elf’s back. Pain flashed over his face briefly, but then it contorted and laughed again.  


Adelina turned that ferocious little glare to Caro. “He wasn’t doing anything!” she yelled. Oh no, Dorian thought. Quickly, Dorian scooped her up and tried to quiet her. The stubborn little girl merely kept yelling that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was so going to get yelled at by their mother, he just knew it.  


“He insulted you.” Caro tried to explain to what he thought was a dumb child. “It is his kind’s way.” Adelina glared at him even more.  


“Shush, child.” Sicarius’s voice was so soft, Dorian wasn’t sure he was speaking. They looked down at him. “The shemlen is of no threat lest you let him be. Do not give him such power, da’asha.” Dorian blinked, unsure what to make of that. Another whip landed across Sicarius’s back making him hiss slightly but when he looked up at Adelina his eyes were bright, defiance bringing out greens in those large irises.  


“Dori…can you heal him?” Adelina turned those big eyes towards him. She was about to cry, her little frame shaking.  


“I’m not very good at healing, Lina.” He admitted quietly.  


“Then do something else.” She demanded infuriatingly. Couldn’t the child understand there was nothing you could do for the elf? He had dug his own grave. Then an annoying part of his mind spoke up. That’s the thing; she couldn’t understand because she was right. Of course you could do something. You could always do something, you just don’t wish to. He winced at his own conscious.  


“Caro get him out of here. Now.” Aelianus barked loudly, before shouting orders at the other slaves. Sicarius was all but dragged out of the room. Silence pierced through the whisperings of the crowd, almost worse than the whispers actually. Halward and his wife moved to collect their children. Halward wasn’t sure if he should be furious, ashamed, or proud at his little daughter.  


The Pavus’s left shortly after apologizing, as though they needed to, and saying the proper amount of gracious goodbyes.  


Dorian’s mind couldn’t leave the image of the elf’s eyes, however. That look of sheer determination, the hate, the defiance. He refused to listen to others who told him he was a slave. He refused to lose himself to what others wanted, damn the consequences. It was…unnerving. Not because he was a slave and was likely going to be killed tonight, but because Dorian wished he could do the same. To not have to hide, not that he was hiding what he was. But to not give a damn about the sneers and sideways looks. To have the sheer balls to deny everything everyone told him.  


Sure he did to a degree. He made no secret of sleeping with men. But he still bowed to his father, wanting to see a look of approval or something. He ordered slaves about without a thought. Even though he tried to not be everything that he hated about his homeland, he still went along with a lot.  


That thought put Dorian into a rather dismal mood as their carriage started to make its way home.

*****  


The dismal mood continued for a few days. Adelina had been lectured about her little outburst, as much as you could lecture a four year old. Dorian got told he should have restrained her, like anyone could restrain that little girl. And Adelina made every adult feel guilty as hell about the whole situation.  


She’d make one hell of a magister, Dorian thought with a mix of pride and dislike. She’d just have to be a mage. Which was the thing that made everyone hold their breaths. Dorian frowned, unable to concentrate. Dorian was stuck watching her like a jail warden as she pouted about not being able to go play outside in the rain.  


Dorian’s lessons or study session with Alexius had also been cancelled due to the rain that seemed to never cease. So both of them were stuck inside as the sky threw buckets down on to the streets.  


“Dori.” Drew him out of his melancholy gaze out the window in the family room. He turned his head to her sitting on the floor with various toys scattered about her. She had one of the most adorably guilty looks on her face that he almost smiled.  


“Hmm?” He answered.  


“What happened to the elf?” The question felt like a slap. Dorian recoiled as though it were. He wasn’t sure what might have happened to him. Death? The elf probably hoped so. Or he may have been severely punished. Hard to say. But how to put it so a child could understand? And not upset her in the process.  


Dorian sighed, rubbing his temples as another clash of thunder rumbled through the house. The sound made Dorian just remember seeing the elf writhe about as lightning coiled and sparked around him. It sickened his stomach just remembering the smell.  


“I don’t know, Lina.” He finally gave. She twirled the hair of a doll absently. She seemed so depressed; a child should not be that sad. Dorian frowned at her, still out of his element with her. “Lina, who did your hair this morning?” He asked, noting how there seemed to be a tangled mess in the back. He may not know how to handle her, but he did know proper personal grooming and that benefited everyone.  


“I did…” she stated meekly. Dorian tried hard to not smirk. He failed. “It’s not that bad.” She protested.  


“Sweetie, it’s atrocious. You have a nest in the back.” He told her with a smile. He got up from the couch and walked over to her. “Come on; let’s go fix it before your dolls begin to gossip all about Minrathous, hmm?” He held out a hand for her to take. She frowned and gave her best impression of their mother’s disapproving scowl, the one that said don’t be silly.  


“Dolls don’t talk, Dori.” She said bluntly as she grabbed his hand. He laughed, picking her up easily.  


“Of course they do. You just can’t hear them because you don’t listen.” She looked down at her little elephant stuffed animal as though she was trying her hardest to hear it. Dorian smiled genuinely. He wanted her to stay small and innocent for as long as possible. And if anyone ever told her to grow up, he’d light them on fire.  


“Can you hear them?” She asked as he picked up her into his arms. He grabbed the little animal before heading for one of the stairs that lined the main hallway.  


“What a mad question. Of course I can. How else would I know they were positively scandalized by your hair? Your little friend there tried to explain your brush was the one to blame but they were having none of it.”  


*****  


_"But Papa!” Adelina stamped her foot, glaring at him with eyes that threatened to cry. “He didn’t do anything wrong!” Halward sighed to himself; the girl had her mother’s attitude. His wife fanned herself in her seat, hiding how she was amused by the child’s tantrum._  


_“Adelina, that doesn’t matter.” He tried again._  


_“Yes it does! You said only bad slaves, ones who do bad things get punished! He didn’t do anything bad!”_  


_“Sweetie, that’s how we treat our slaves.” His wife finally decided to interject. “Not everyone is as kind as we.” Their daughter looked between them, her lips beginning to quiver. That child, Maker bless her, was so sensitive._  


_“But…what’s going to happen to him?”_  


_Neither of them answered her. The four year old looked bewildered as she cried. Halward knew she understood what might happen even if death was an odd concept for her to grasp. They had explained it to her, how death was natural and unavoidable and whatnot. But she cared too deeply for things to let them go. He worried what trouble that might cause her later in life._  


_“Papa you can save him…can’t you?” Halward gave an internal wince. Dorian had asked nearly the same question when he was her age. Looked at him with same sort of admiration. Now he could barely talk to his son without it turning into an argument._

_He shook his head, silently. The hope in her face completely crumbled. Halward had to wonder what made her so attached to this elf. Adelina was a quiet child, shy around anyone who wasn’t family. Even as a babe she refused to be held or cared for by most if not all people aside from her mother. Eventually she allowed Dorian and himself to hold her, but strangers? Oh no. She was distant to other children and frightened of many of the slaves. The few that she wasn’t, she adored so they were kept close._

_Yet this strange, rebellious elf was able to worm his way into her good graces somehow. It was bewildering._

_“Why not?” She hiccupped. His wife was holding her and trying to shush her._

That question bothered Halward even now. Why not? Why could he not help? He didn’t want to help such a person, sure. Why did she feel so strongly about the elf though? That perhaps bothered him more. He was used to looking the other way. It was just one elf; helping him wouldn’t make a difference.

_“But it’s still a life!” Adelina yelled. “It matters to him!” She was bawling and hiccupping as she spoke. Her mother cooed and rubbed her back. A sinking feeling settled in Halward’s stomach._

It was odd that a child could have a better moral compass than an adult. Perhaps it wasn’t odd, but sad. He had wisdom and experience she did not, yet she found the problem root of all thinking in Tevinter. A life was still a life.  


Halward sighed loudly, staring at the ceiling of his bedchamber. His wife paused in brushing her hair, giving him a cold stare from the corner of her eyes.  


“Something troubling you?” as usual her voice was placid, giving nothing away. Sometimes he wanted to strangle her just to see some sort of reaction.  


“Your daughter.” He muttered frustrated. Aine laughed shortly, continuing to brush her hair out. Carefully she placed the gilded brush on the nightstand.  


“How does she trouble you? She is a child. Full of childish ideals. She’ll learn.” Aine settled herself back against the headboard of the bed, looking down at him with her icy blue eyes. Halward sighed again.  


“She sees the world more clearly than most in the Magisterium.” He stated almost bitterly. He saw his wife nod solemnly. Sometimes when she wasn’t ignoring his presence or engaging him in verbal combat, he’d find he could stand her. If they had any say in marrying, they’d have found someone else, but moments like this where they actually talked, she was bearable. And Halward learned to enjoy those moments when they came.  


“What I wish to know is what manner of blood magic that elf used to get Adelina to like him.” She snorted, reaching over and taking her wine glass from the stand.  


“There’s that too.”  


Silence spread as Aine sipped her wine delicately. The wine was bitter in her mouth. Having to actually raise the child, rather than let slaves and nursemaids care for her, had created a bond with her daughter. She had a bond with Dorian as well, she was the one he used to come to with tears. But this bond was different. Her daughter’s tantrum over the elf tugged her heart in a way she was unaccustomed to. She actually felt guilty for not helping the elf.  


She drank more wine to try to dull it. “Halward.” She finally said, hoping that he had falling asleep. She felt him stiffen as though preparing for a fight. That pained her as well. She wished for a partner that she could let her guards down. With a magister though…she constantly thought she might end up as part of a blood sacrifice.  


Aine let out a breath, putting the glass back on the nightstand. She turned onto her hip to face the man she had to call husband. “Halward,” she started again. The candles showed him turning his face towards her. He seemed older, weary. She hesitated touching him, thinking she might get shocked or something. “Is there truly nothing we can do?” She asked, deciding to rest her hand on his shoulder.  


He looked down at her hand like it was an odd growth before he looked up at her. He was surprised to see her eyes were troubled, shimmering. It was odd to see her so uncomposed, vulnerable.  


“Why? Because Adelina threw a tantrum?” He inquired.  


“Because you do not wish to help?” She fired back, slightly digging her nails into his shoulder before relaxing. “It may be one slave to the rest of Tevinter. But to Adelina, that elf was something different. He was a life, a life she wanted to help. What’s wrong with that?” Halward sighed. “You taught both our children to help those under us, not to cast them aside like trash.”  


“What would you have me do? Buy the slave?” Halward pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.  


“If you could. Aelianus is an asp of a man. His wife a sadist. I’d have you buy all their slaves if we could. That might knock them back a bit.” There was the coldness, the bitterness he’d come to expect from Aine. He watched her glare at the door like she could make the man drop dead just by a thought. He almost smiled, at least it was someone else. Then she looked back at him. “Is it not a kindness to take slaves? Give them food, shelter, teach them how to live properly?”  


“What are you getting at, Aine?” He asked with a sigh. He looked back up at the ceiling. Halward jumped feeling her hand press against his cheek. His eyes snapped back to her. She leaned on her elbow towards him.  


“Devanne and her husband have failed to provide that to the rabbit. If you back an animal into a corner, it will lash out. As he did. Could we not make for better masters?” He knew she was trying to manipulate him. But there was a little flicker in her eyes that told him she might care a sliver about the slave that made him listen to her. “And if procuring the elf makes your daughter happy and you seem like a hero to her, all the better.” Then she stopped and thought a moment.  


She looked to the side towards the door. “If neither of those sway you, perhaps you could make a deal with Dorian.” His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He sat up on his elbows to stare into her eyes on an even level.  


“A deal with Dorian?”  


“I recall Devanne hinting, or perhaps bragging at how that elf…Sicarius was…shall we say skilled in intimate matters.” Halward stared at his wife in disbelief. She was actually suggesting for him to buy his son a sex slave. “He gets a paramour as a wedding present and marries the girl; Adelina thinks you stand for what is right in the world and we gain a slave she will actually stand.”  


“Assuming the man doesn’t kill us in our sleep or run at the first chance. And he follows orders which I doubt he will.” Halward noted. It was odd to feel Aine reach up and massage the skin between his eyebrows, relaxing them. She brushed a strand of hair away from his face.  


“As I said, an animal will lash out when you scare it into a corner. Perhaps if he feels safe, he will adapt and grow to be loyal to you. Give a dog food, and he will be yours.”  


“Or bite your arm off.” She frowned then seemed to notice how she had crossed that invisible line they’d drawn. She took her hand away and sat back up. Her eyes began to harden again, closing off. Halward suddenly missed her. Carefully he reached out and laid a hand over hers. He sighed to himself, closing his eyes. “Assuming the elf is still alive…” He began, stopping when he felt her squeeze his hand. Why did she care so much about this one elf? “I can…inquire about him tomorrow when I meet with Aelianus.” He gave in with an exasperated breath.  


He opened his eyes in time to see a small smile form about Aine’s lips. “Are you smiling?” he asked mockingly. She threw an eyebrow up and looked down at him. “Why do you care so much about this elf?”  


“I care not for the elf; I care for my daughter. She has us both wrapped around her little finger.” She snorted. “And…I’d like to think you have some redeeming qualities, husband.” Halward chuckled drily at her tone. He squeezed her hand before settling back down to sleep. She blew out her candle and got under the sheets.  


Halward pretended he didn’t notice her moving closer to him than normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have this funny AU of Dorian having a little sister, just cause I find it adorable and funny. And for anyone who is about to throw the "Dorian's parents hate each other" at me...I didn't say they were. My thinking is: well maybe they got drunk and had a momentary lapse in judgment? It's really hard for me to write small children because I don't have anyone younger than me...  
> And Dorian's mother I took creativity liberty with her. I'm not saying she loves Halward, but I did think that it was more of a "I would marry someone else if I could, but since I can't I'll try to tolerate you" kind of thing. I think of her more as a mediator of the family. And I regret nothing. :)
> 
> Again thanks for reading!


	3. Fifteen Gold and a Bottle of Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon doesn't really like Dorian...

Magister Aelianus was frustrated. More so than usual that is. Dark circles around his eyes told Halward he hadn’t slept. The man was the same age as Halward but seemed decades older as they sat together in the library sipping brandy. The late afternoon sun shone brightly through the large bay window that took up the entire western wall. Different color hues were cast upon the ground from the stained glass mosaics in the window.  


Halward watched the other man carefully as he read over the papers he was to sign. The golden eyes of the Aelianus’s were troubled, distant.  


“Something troubles you, friend.” Halward decided to note aloud. Aelianus’s eyes glanced up, as though he had not heard him correctly. Then he let out a long breath.  


“Devanne is trying my patience. Again.” He finally stated, putting the papers on the table as he rubbed his temple. Halward gave a knowing smile. Aine had done that last night, convincing him this was a good idea.  


“She wishes to redeem herself and throw another party? Or is she trying to convince you to petition for another excursion through elven trash in a desolate wasteland?” Aelianus laughed drily.  


“I almost wish it were one of those. No she refuses to discipline that heathen.”  


“The elf from the party?”  


“That’s the one. She’s come up with an excuse for everything he does. Her fascination with him is…ill-advised and horrifying at times.” Halward nodded in understanding, contemplating how best to move next. Then Aelianus gave a dark chuckle. “She finds puzzles challenging, and he’s the one puzzle she hasn’t solved.”  


Halward gave a wary look before asking, “How so?”  


Aelianus snorted. “Devanne has some…odd tastes. She watches and finds what…hurts you the most, what scares you, and what makes you happy. Then she uses it to best suit her. Most of the slaves are utterly terrified of her.” Halward looked closely at the man, wondering why a magister would say such things to him. He had to know Halward could use this against him. Of course Devanne’s masochistic sadism wasn’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t a well known piece of gossip either.  


“And this Dalish?”  


“She can’t break him. You hit him, he laughs. You burn him, he laughs more. Put his head underwater and pull him back up, he laughs again. And it infuriates her.” He gave another dark chuckle. “I’ll give the knife-ear kudos for having a backbone. I just wish to be rid of him one way or another. He is cursed.” Halward nearly choked on his drink.  


He gave the other man a long look. “You can’t honestly believe in superstitions now, Aelianus.”  


“He’s Dalish, who knows what kind of magic they know.” The magister knocked back the rest of his glass before pouring another. His fourth. “He’s had…two masters prior to us. We bought him from a slavehouse a few months ago. No six months ago. The headmaster said that he was cursed too.”  


Halward waited, thinking the man obviously had too much to drink today. Aelianus snorted before turning to him. “Did you know there were three separate fires that happened the night of the party?”  


“You had a lot of lanterns lit, friend.” Halward took the brandy bottle and placed on the other side of him, not sure how much more crazy he could stand.  


“But the fires were in areas no one would have been. No lanterns, no candles. Three different painting were utterly destroyed along with a rug and an endtable. Nothing else burned, just those things.”  


“Couldn’t one of the other slaves have set them?”  


He shook his head. “As I said all the other knife-ears are thoroughly scared of my wife.”  


“Is he a mage?” Halward asked. He began to doubt that he wanted to buy this elf if so much destruction followed him. And having a rebellious mage slave has never ended well. If the Dalish was indeed a mage, he did not wish to endanger his family by bringing such a thing into their house.  


“I tested him, and I found nothing. So either he is a mundane, or is very good at hiding his magic.” Aelianus threw back his glass again, coughing a bit. Halward sat quietly contemplating things as the other man watched him. “You wouldn’t happen to want another slave would you, Pavus?” Halward snorted at the ill-timed joke.  


“After hearing you complain so much about the elf?” Aelianus gave a fake smirk. “Is he even still alive or useable?”  


That made Aelianus laugh loudly. “Please my wife loves torture more than breathing and fine silks. She says that death is exactly what he wants, so she denies him it. He’s in the holding cells, I can’t honestly tell you more than that. But magic could fix him enough to work…probably.”  


Halward suddenly felt unsure. He hadn’t told his wife he would buy the elf, yet he felt as though he had. Adelina would certainly be pleased, but if the elf was indeed a mage…and then there’s Dorian. He sincerely doubted his son would agree to any terms that involved using the elf; Halward didn’t expect him to. He had taught both his children not to use deplorable actions. And yet he wished that Dorian would. He was at his wits end with him and his…mannerisms. Could the boy not see he was doing everything he could to give him the best future possible?  


“My daughter…seemed to be quite attached to the elf actually.” Halward began as he raised his glass to his lips.  


“Oh? Wonder what the rabbit did to make your little spitfire like him.” Halward chuckled as he drank the rest of his brandy. The bite of the alcohol in his throat helped him contemplate his words.  


“Depending on what you ask, I might be inclined to take the elf off your hands, Aelianus.” The other man stared at Magister Pavus oddly. Like he had just grown three heads. He might have if the smell of alcohol was an indication of how much the other had drank today alone.  


“Honestly, at this point I’d give him to you. He’s not worth much, fifty silvers maybe? I’d go to twenty-five if need be.”  


“If he is as much trouble as you say he is, I could go no higher than fifteen.” Aelianus narrowed his eyes slightly.  


“Fifteen and a bottle of one of your vintages. You still have that brewery in Qarinus right?” Halward smirked.  


“You have a deal, Aelianus.” Halward reached out to shake hands. Aelianus grinned and shook his hand vigorously. The other man snapped his fingers at one of the slaves that stood at the back wall, awaiting commands. She was a skittish elf with mousy brown hair. She bowed to her master, silently.  


“Go fetch some paper and some more ink. Some wax as well.” He barked at her. Pavus noted how she flinched but scurried away to find the items. “So I expect that wine soon, Pavus. The coin I expect before you get your elf, however.”  


Halward had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Of course, friend.”  


Then they wrote out the bill of sale, and writing the slave over to House Pavus, the papers which would then be sent to a judge so they could be noted and the elf’s papers be copied and sent to Halward acknowledging him as the owner. The elf would be brought to their house tomorrow morning as Aelianus wanted to check his condition before sending him to Pavus. Probably to ensure Halward didn’t have anything to use against him, like mistreating a slave was a crime in Tevinter.  


It was dusk by the time Halward was back in his carriage headed for home. In the dark he let his head rest against the window. What had he just bought?  


*****  


A knock interrupted Halward’s writing. He didn’t glance up at the slave who was bowing in the doorway. “Pardon me, master. But Aelianus’s men just dropped the slave off.” Halward continued to write at his desk.  


“Very good, Oswin. What is his condition?” He asked the human servant. Oswin was an older slave, grey covering most of his head, wrinkles starting to become more prominent on his dark skin. Still he was as loyal as a dog, and quick to carry out orders. And was the head slave of the household.  


Oswin hesitated, causing Halward to look up at the man. The slave shifted uncomfortably for a moment. “It is hard to say, Master Halward. The amount of restraints…I would not collar even a dog like that.” Halward furrowed his eyebrows as the slave glanced up with sad grey eyes. Halward sighed, wiping his quill clean and corking his ink.  


“Send him to the infirmary. Preferably in quarantine. I do not know if he is still catching.” Halward pinched his nose, regretting buying the man. Oswin bowed lower before turning on his heel and walking out of the study.  


*****  


Everything hurt. That was Falon’s only thought as his carriers forced him to walk. The bindings around his legs prevented much movement so he stumbled more than walked towards the small cottage-esque building on the east part of the grounds. The chains rattled loudly in his head, banging against his raw joints.  


His neck quivered as the muscles were growing tired of holding themselves up. But a heretic’s fork prevented him from relaxing them. So he held his chin up, feeling the point pushing into the hollow of his throat and the bottom of his jaw. His arms were bound behind him at a painful angle by chains and straps. He could neither speak to nor laugh at the shemlen who pushed him along into the ramshackle hut.  


It was warm, far too warm for Falon. His fever pulsed inside him, making him dizzy. The world seemed to spin as he struggled to breath in the warmth created by a large fireplace in one corner. That was the only light as well since the tiny windows in the front room were curtained. A few slaves looked over at him being brought in.  


Some were laying cots with bandages or cloths, others were tending to those in the beds. All of them stared, some did double-takes. Falon glared, trying to move his mouth. The muzzle prevented it, the metal spikes pressing against his tongue. All he could taste was metal and blood. All he could think of was pain and how surely this was where they took slaves to die. He hoped it was.  


The old human motioned to a room off the side of the main room. The grunts all but dragged Falon inside, yanking his arms painfully. They frowned at the small bed with a table and chair near it. This room had a single window that was dirty as hell but let in some light. The creaky wooden floorboards weren’t as worn as the other room’s and there were clean sheets on the bed. Still it was obvious this was a cell of a sort. It was too small to be an actual room, and the dingy and dirty brick walls made Falon think he was going to be buried alive. How he missed sleeping under the stars.  


The human with greying hair moved to the side to allow Falon’s carriers to all but throw him on the bed. He fell sideways on to the lumpy mattress. He glared at the two as he tried to right himself. He had little strength to fight, still he felt the need to try. The human’s hands upon his bare arms made Falon flinch away. The old man pulled him up and lifted his feet onto the bed.  


Falon watched him warily, glaring slightly as the man turned to the carriers.  


“That will be all, thank you.” He told them. They looked at each other before turning to glare at Falon. Falon could not help but look down his nose at them from the collar.  


“You should chain him to the walls.” One of them muttered. Falon’s heart stuttered despite himself. He nearly shuddered remembering all the chains attached him in that little cell. He was bound so tightly he could barely turn his head. His legs were cramped and sore from sitting so long in the dirt. His body ached remembering it.  


One of the twin carriers, or at least they looked alike in their helmets, began to detach the chains on his belt, the ones that had bound Falon in the wagon.  


“That will not be necessary.” Came a new voice from the doorway. Falon turned his glare to the new humans. One was an older man with black hair and a magister’s robe. The other Falon recognized from the party, the little girl’s brother. Falon gave a sneer. He had been bought. Again. It made him feel worthless, used, no better than a shemlen horse. He growled in his throat at the rage that made his fever worse.  


The human slave bowed to his master waving away the carriers. “Master Halward, Master Dorian.” He greeted each in turn. They could not enter the tiny room until the carriers gave one final glare towards Falon and left.  


“You should at least keep the muzzle on.” One of them muttered.  


Len’alas lath’din, ar tu na’lin emma mi. Falon growled in his head. Dorian and the man Falon could only assume to be his father entered. Dorian’s face was a mix of shock and pity. It made Falon want to spit in his face honestly. Halward’s face was calm, but his eyes were conflicted. Probably regretting buying him, Falon thought bitterly.  


“Oswin?” Halward asked, not looking away from Falon’s bitter teal eyes boring into his own grey eyes. The amount of resentment they held was astonishing, like the elf was no more than a wolf in a cage.  


Oswin, the human slave, sat upon the bed next to Falon, causing his attention to shift to him. It was clear the elf was in discomfort, on edge, perhaps frightened by the way he shied away from Oswin’s hands. But bound as he was, he could not get far, especially when Oswin grabbed a hold of one of the straps around his torso.  


If he didn’t have a muzzle on, Falon would have bitten that man’s hand as it pressed against his face. Falon tried to quell the itchy feeling he got under his skin, focusing on how cool the hand felt.  


“Can we please get the collar off him at least?” Dorian finally requested, growing uncomfortable at how the elf’s neck was strained backwards. He could see blood on the fork, trails of it down his neck and chest that disappeared under the bindings. Halward stepped forward, looking at the collar. The elf moved away, nearly falling off the bed as he tried to glare at the magister.  


Oswin kept a hold of him gently. “Now, now. Let us help you, lad.” The old man muttered as the elf’s eyes went from Halward’s hands to his face. “Master Halward isn’t going to hurt you.” Dorian heard the elf snorted loudly, saw his mouth move like he tried to say something. Only grunts could be heard.  


Halward whispered a spell, letting magic wrap around the metal collar from his fingers. The hinge popped open, dropping the collar into Oswin’s hand. The elf’s head all but flopped forward, the muscles twitching violently.  


Dorian stayed just inside the doorway, unsure why his father asked him to accompany him to the infirmary like he did as a child. He was shit at healing spells. But he noticed the elf’s eyes darting back to him, with slightly less hatred in them. Dorian watched as his father held the man’s face up, examining the holes from the fork. Dorian also noted the slave collar was still on his neck, making him furrow his eyebrows. Who puts a collar over a collar?  


He frowned, remembering blood dripping from underneath it at the party. He stepped forward, walking to the other side of the elf, next to Oswin. Carefully he broke the spell over the metal. It was hard, like the spell had been reinforced, or it was stuck like the metal was rusted shut. Still he was able to tug the collar lose. Sicarius hissed quietly, pure pain washing over his features as the metal left his neck.  


All of them wrinkled their noses. It smelt of rotting flesh, of sores and puss. It was clear the collar was tight enough to not allow him to wash underneath it, (and judging from the layer of dirt and blood on him, Dorian doubted he’d been allowed to bathe at all). There were many sores, areas that were rubbed bloody, and areas that seemed to have been melted to the collar. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and sure as hell wasn’t a pretty smell.  


Dorian looked to the side to try not the vomit. Halward just shook his head as he continued to examine the wounds. “How could they stand smelling that let alone allow him to live with it?” Dorian asked aloud. The elf again tried to speak. Dorian took notice of what looked like a bit going into his mouth.  


“Perhaps a spell over the collar.” Halward noted quietly. “And you know Devanne, she probably found it amusing.” Dorian frowned at his father. He was still trying to figure out what he wanted. Magister Halward didn’t look at him, instead he began a healing spell. Sicarius’s eyes went wide for a moment before he began to thrash, pulling away from Halward’s hands and their green glow.  


Halward cut the spell as the elf was kicking himself farther away from him. Oswin was all but holding the slave from falling onto the floor. But the elf’s eyes were icy with hatred and disgust. He was moving his mouth or trying to as though to speak. Oswin seemed to take note and started to undo the straps holding the muzzle to the man’s head.  


The straps fell and the elf spit out a spiked bit, blood coating it and trailing down his chin. Both the Pavus’s looked in disgust at the tool. Oswin was right, even a dog didn’t deserve that kind of muzzle.  


“Keep your filthy blood magic to yourself, shem.” The elf hissed, spitting more blood out as he sneered. His nostrils flared as he glared at Halward with all his might. Falon had seen blood magic for the first time within the first month of him being in Tevinter. A young slave’s throat was slashed, the blood pooling around the mage’s feet. Falon had the misfortune of cleaning that up. And of being on the wrong end of a blood ritual…and he could only say that not all blood rituals needed a life.  


Halward looked like he had been slapped, which gave Falon a smug sense of happiness which he didn’t show. Dorian winced, thinking his father would have the elf beaten. But his father quickly composed himself.  


“I can assure you I have never used blood magic. And if I did, I would not use it to heal a slave.” The last word made the elf’s eyes flash.  


“I am no slave.” Dorian sighed, somewhat wishing he could be that stubborn. Though he knew the elf was going to get himself killed. Halward sighed exasperatedly. Dorian smirked at how tried his father looked.  


“Child, Master Halward is merely healing your wounds.” Oswin piped in calmly, moving Falon back onto the bed. The elf looked oddly at the other slave. Then he broke his gaze, again spitting blood out of his mouth.  


“Then how about rearranging my arms; I think my shoulders are beginning to break.” He growled as though he wasn’t happy about allowing himself to be helped by humans. Dorian sighed quietly before helping Oswin undo all the bindings around the elf. One by one they dropped off, some were bound by magic, others simple buckles.  


“For the love of all things holy!” Dorian growled as there seemed to be no end. The bindings that kept Sicarius’s hands tied behind him were apparently buried underneath a mountain of straps. He heard the elf chuckle. “What did you do to get this many chains?”  


“Well, I bit the guard’s hand, I head butted the cook, tripped another guard, slammed one into the wall, kicked one’s knee out, and maybe broke one’s leg? I don’t remember that one though. I remember getting punted in the head.” Dorian winced at the calm tone he kept. There was a fear underneath it all, a loneliness and sadness that might have been undetected had Sicarius not looked down.  


Finally Dorian released the chains bound around his wrists. The elf’s shoulders relaxed instantly and his arms fell limply at his side. He let out a contented hiss of pain. Dorian glanced at his bare chest. Burns were festering, blisters oozed. Some areas were merely red from being bound, but others were scabbing from lashings. Still one could see the faint traces of his tattoos, which was oddly comforting.  


“So, child, what is your name?” Oswin asked quietly as he dipped a rag into a basin on the table next to the bed. Dorian stepped back, watching as his father started the healing spell. The elf glared at the green light but didn’t move away this time. He did keep an amusingly disgusted look on his face though. Oswin began to clean away some of the blood and puss caked onto the skin.  


“Call me knife-ears or rabbit. Most of your kind seem happy with that.” He growled bitterly. Dorian scoffed to himself.  


“In case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t most of our kind.” Dorian quipped earning a glare himself. He’d take the glare, it was heated and angry. Dorian tried hard to forget the look of nothing he had saw before.  


“Either one of you is the stupidest person in all of Thedas or was suckered by a little girl’s sweetness.” Oswin smacked the elf’s arm. He winced and shook for a moment before giving a bitter laugh. “Try harder.”  


“Personally if someone here has to be the stupidest person in all of Thedas, I’d put my money on you.” The elf’s eyes met Dorian’s. It was odd to see a slave look his master in the eyes.  


Then the elf snorted, looking back at the glow that was wrapping around him. “I won’t argue with that.” Halward shook his head as he cut the spell. The worst of the wounds had knitted together or regrown, but still sores and bruises and a few cuts remained. And there was his fever. The elf was sweating profoundly and he looked about like a skeleton.  


Halward sighed, feeling drained both magically and physically. “Oswin, try to get his fever under control. Till then, keep him here. I won’t have an epidemic on my hands.” Halward muttered shaking his head again. The elf cocked an eyebrow as though challenging him to try to make him stay there.  


“Yes, Master Halward.” Oswin bowed slightly.  


“And get him a bath.” Dorian added, wrinkling his nose as another wave of the putrid smell hit his nose. The elf snorted loudly.  


“I apologize for offending your nose. Shall I be lashed twenty times for such an offense, magister?” The elf muttered so quietly that Dorian chose to pretend he didn’t hear the bitter sarcasm. If he could be sarcastic, he was going to be fine after awhile.  


Halward motioned for his son to follow him on his way out. Dorian glanced at the Dalish who was being told to lie down and arguing about it before following. “So pray tell why did you bring me down here?” Dorian asked once they were out of the sick house and under the walkway’s roof. Rain still slipped down from the sky sometimes, but it was better than having it piss on you.  


Halward looked over at his son with a blank expression. “He is yours.” He merely said. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. What was his game?  


“You bought me a sick slave?” He asked skeptically. “Oh my, I’ve always wanted one of those! Especially one who’d sooner stab my eyes out and dance on my corpse than follow me around.”  


Halward sighed, trying to keep the anger out of his jaw. His son was just so…trying sometimes. Like his mother. For a moment Halward prayed to whatever would hear him that his son would grow up soon.  


“Consider him an engagement present.” His son literally stopped in his tracks to stare bewildered at him. Then his eyes narrowed as though he could read his father’s face. Halward returned the look with indifference.  


“You give me a slave for a present?” Dorian sounded skeptical and disgusted at the same time. His father gave him nothing without it having some ulterior motive behind it.  


“Yes, do with him as you will. At least this way you won’t be flaunting yourself all over Minrathous.” Dorian looked like he’d been slapped. That was it.  


“You want me to…what? Keep him as a sex slave? To use him just so your reputation isn’t sullied by my disgraceful behavior? Hmm?” Dorian’s tone told Halward he was working himself up again. The magister sighed in frustration.  


“Dorian—“ Halward started.  


“How could you even suggest I use a slave like that?” Dorian interrupted. Their arguments seemed to be rather one-sided as of late. The world outside of that little walkway back to the mansion seemed to hang still, the gloomy clouds stopping their crying as though to listen to a good family feud. “What ever happened to don’t use slaves like things, Father?”  


Halward began walking again, not in the mood to argue about such things. Instead he tried a different tactic. “I understand you are young and are…curious, but this is—“  


“Do not say this is best for me.” Dorian snarled, feeling like he had been kicked in the gut. Dorian clenched his jaw as his father stopped and turned towards him. He seemed older for a moment as they stared, willed the other to understand. Dorian looked away first, towards the archway that lead to the garden. Adelina ran passed it for a moment before she doubled back. Her smile was so big as she started towards him. “You understand nothing, father.” Dorian said as he went to greet his sister.  


*****  


Falon resisted as Oswin tried to move him to his side. “I don’t need to be cleaned.” He hissed. It was more like it hurt too much to move. His body ached to the point he thought he was going to shatter with a heartbeat. His burns didn’t pound anymore but the lashes still stung. His mouth was sore, his throat raw, and his head nearly exploded each time he opened his eyes.  


Oswin as he told him, huffed at the stubborn youth. “You aren’t doing your body any favors, lad.” He said once again. Falon nearly laughed. The human reminded him of Falon’s own grandfather, the craftsman of their clan. Master Jagan was as stubborn as ironbark but ultimately a gentle soul…who occasionally cussed like a madman possessed.  


“It…hurts.” Falon finally gave. The old man put him at ease for some reason. Perhaps because he was a slave as well. Perhaps Falon wished for someone to talk to. Perhaps he was finally breaking.  


Oswin looked at him with sympathy. “Aye, it does, it will. But it’ll hurt more if we don’t get you cleaned up.” Falon rolled his head to the side. He frowned at the old man. They stayed locked in a battle of wills before Falon blew a loud breath out his nose.  


“Fine, but I can’t promise I’m not going to yell at you.” He hissed sarcastically. Oswin held out his arm for the elf to grip onto. Oswin winced as what felt like bones grabbed his forearm. The elf was so light, ribs sticking out, legs so thin they’d be broken by a breeze. Still he kept himself calm as he pulled the elf into a sitting position. It was as good as they were going to get.  


Oswin braced Falon against himself as he cleaned the rag again. The elf’s skin was clammy and shook. But the elf seemed determined to stay awake. The sound of the water splashing was all that filled the room. In the other room, some of the others were talking, wondering about this new elf.  


“So you never did tell me your name,” Oswin noted as he rang out the cloth. The water was turning a dirty red color in the clay bowl. He brushed away the greasy hair that was…insanely long for a slave. Falon’s head rose briefly to hiss as the cold rag touched his beaten back.  


“What do names matter here?” He growled stubbornly. Maker help the poor fool, Oswin thought as he rolled his eyes.  


“About as much as they matter anywhere else in Thedas.” Oswin was careful about going over some of the scabs. Master Halward had not been able to heal them all for some reason. Perhaps some were too extensive. Or he focused on the horrid burn that marred the boy’s flesh. Oswin was glad to not have to touch what had looked to be diseased flesh.  


The elf scoffed. “Call me Sicarius.” He finally gave.  


“Your name is Sicarius?” It was an oddly Tevinter name for someone who seemed to be foreign.  


“No, but the magister who owned me first called me that. It will do.” Oswin nodded. Falon wished to keep himself severed in two. Falon’dir and Sicarius, the First and the Slave, two separate people living in the same body. Just so this land would not soil all his memories and his Keeper self. Let that person be only for the one who kept Falon going despite being broken beyond any healer’s skill. The one who’s memory kept him defiant.  


Finally, Oswin laid the elf back down and nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.  


*****  


Falon’s days turned into a routine. He’d be roused from sleep sometime around dawn to eat some sort of soup and be cleaned with a rag before he was allowed to sleep again. Then some time in the afternoon, he’d be awakened again for more food and a bout of healing slaves. Evening brought the same.  


His mind was almost always in a daze whenever he was awake, the fade was much clearer. Oh how the spirits tortured him with images of Kalor. But he clung to them even though they hurt. He wanted to believe the spirits were trying to help him stay himself, but still when he woke he felt drained.  


His fever broke the second day of his routine, but Oswin was adamant about Falon taking it easy. The two masters never came around, which helped Falon adjust to his tiny cell all the better.  


A human boy would often help Oswin with his tasks when it came to Falon. The human was only slightly taller and a bit stouter than Falon, younger by probably 4 years, but could move him and carry him with ease. He was called Mikkel or so he told Falon one evening that he was cleaning the window.  


Falon after his illness started to fade would wake often and be found staring out that tiny window. He’d gaze at the stars and wonder where his clan was. He’d watch the clouds come and go and be reminded of Hahren Ilana telling stories by the halla pens. Unable to move without pain or help, he was trapped inside the room and inside his head. A very dangerous place to be.  


By the fifth day, Falon was about ready to scream. His mind was cruel and he wished to be rid of this loneliness. He had never been alone for so long prior to Tevinter. He felt like he was lost, drowning in a sea of thoughts. All he could hear were his thoughts, and he was tired of himself. He wanted to talk, to walk, crawl, to do something that didn’t involve debating philosophy and physics with himself.  


He growled loudly as he once again began counting the cracks in the ceiling.  


“My, here I thought you were an elf and not a bear.” Mikkel joked as he brought in the tray. Falon glared half-heartedly at him. He did not hate the boy. Keeper Deshanna taught him to tolerate the humans, not fear or hate them. It’s their land, she’d say, let them be and they will do the same.  


“You’d turn into a bear too if you had to count cracks in the walls.” Falon hissed as the child chuckled. He sat the tray down on the table as Oswin came in with his salves. Falon frowned. “Can’t we be done with all that yet? Or better yet can’t I walk around or run or go on a murdering spree through the city or whatever it is that you humans do for fun?”  


Oswin chuckled. The elf had a morbid sense of humor, but it was harmless…to him and Mikkel at least. “I don’t think you’re up for running let alone a murder spree.”  


“I can try at least.” Falon blew a strand of hair from his face.  


“How do you stand to have such long hair?” Mikkel asked as he grabbed a few strands and let them fall through his fingers. He had a look of bewilderment and disapproval.  


“How do you stand to have hair growing from your face, shem?” Falon fired back making Mikkel laugh. Falon truly could not find any redeeming quality of the amount of hair humans and dwarves grew on their bodies. It seemed itchy and bothersome, and he shuddered thinking about kissing a mouth surrounded by fur and bristles.  


“Keeps you warm.” Mikkel responded as Falon sat himself up this time. He was slower at it, but his back didn’t hurt as much. In fact aside from his muscles being fatigued, he had no pain. An occasional twinge maybe, but no by-the-Creators-this-hurts kind of pain.  


“And mine keeps me beautiful and elfy.” Falon joked with a smug smirk and batting his long dark red eyelashes. Mikkel shook his head.  


“You look like a woman from behind.”  


“And you look like your face is being attacked by a small fuzzy creature.” Oswin shook his head at the two trading insults like brothers. He walked to the other side of the bed and began cutting away the bandages. The worst of the wounds were healed, scabs falling away and leaving pink scars. He’d be ready to begin work in a few days at least. Oswin applied some numbing salve to the elf’s ears.  


They had only just removed the metal ear cuffs from his flesh…with a knife. But the delicate elven points were mostly undamaged, save for being scabbed here and having a nick or two there.  


“Perhaps we can see if you can walk,” Oswin mumbled as the elf drank some water. Falon blinked at the old man like he spoke in a foreign tongue. “Tomorrow.” The hope that lit up in the stormy eyes faded as he glared. Oswin laughed. “We’ll also see about getting you a proper bath. Master Dorian would cringe at the sight of you right now.”  


“Who?” Falon asked, a sudden bitter taste in his mouth. Hearing the word master brought back the reality of being owned. It stung and he felt more trapped. His magic tingled behind its cage for a moment causing Falon a slight heart attack. He choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering before he shoved the magic down with all his might. Stay there, he told it. But it called, the fade called to used, crafted into fire or ice, nudged into being once more. He denied it. Let them think me powerless; ‘tis better that way.  


“Master Dorian.” Mikkel stated slowly. “Magister Halward’s son. You are to be in his service.” Falon looked like he had been struck a deadly blow. Mikkel winced at the sudden dark look that came over the elf.  


“I…am in service to no one but myself.” He muttered, reminding himself, or perhaps trying to convince himself that was the case. Oswin sighed.  


“If you keep your head low, it isn’t so bad, lad.”  


The elf stared out the window, hatred welling into his eyes. He set his jaw before he looked back at the human. “I am Dalish, Keeper of the lost lore, Walker of the lonely path. I am the last of the Elvhenan; never again shall I submit.”  


*****  


Dorian sighed loudly as he walked home from Alexius’s. It wasn’t that he was frustrated with his sponsor…he was hung over and dreaded going home to what was surely going to be another family fight. The streets of Minrathous moved around him like a boat in the sea. The old city stood against the clear sky that began to darken as Dorian turned onto a less busy street into the residential section again.  


This way was longer than just going through the residential area, instead cutting into the busy market district. The humid sea air helped quell the dastardly headache that spawned in his skull once again. He didn’t think he could take sitting at the dinner table with his parents again.  


He stopped looking at their mansion against the dying sun. He frowned and considered turning around and heading to the nearest tavern again. He’d done that the last two nights, slept on…someone’s couch or floor. Their names were a blur mostly along with the nights he spent with them. Just a series of drinks and some clothes coming off was all his mind could pull up.  


“Good evening, Master Dorian.” A slave bowed carrying her package. It looked to be alchemical supplies for his mother. He nodded slightly looking at her from the corner of his eyes. She wore the family signia over her heart and her blonde hair was bound up in a bun. “The mistress was worried about you.” The slave noted quietly moving to open the gate for her master. Dorian frowned and waved her away. Her hands were full and she’d be whipped for breaking what sounded to be a bunch of bottles. He opened the gate to allow her through first.  


“You have quite the load there…” Her name slipped his mind. She didn’t meet his eyes but she smiled.  


“Evea, master.” She told him. “And thank you; you are much too kind, Master.” Then she scurried in front of him and disappeared towards the servant entrance. Dorian sighed once he was alone. It was more likely his mother was furious about her son being gone all hours doing what she found to be deplorable.  


He ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t think he could stand a yelling tonight. So he walked to the side of the house, towards the enclosed garden. The servants were lighting the lanterns, paying no attention to him. A large tree grew in the far left corner, limbs growing over the roof of the walkway. Vines grew around the columns that lined the courtyard. Exotic flowers bloomed or closed. Most of the flora in his mother’s garden were odd and from far flung corners of Thedas. In the spring it was bright and colorful. Even in the evening.  


Dorian took a deep breath full of the wet smell of flowers and dirt. It was quiet here, so far removed from Minrathous that he nearly forgot he was in a city at all. For a moment, he lost himself in memories of running around the gardens in Qarinus while his mother sat reading a book.  


Then he heard someone yell, “Like Hell I will!” Dorian’s eyes glared at the archway heading towards the servant section of the house. The voice was thickly accented as it spoke in the trade tongue. The accent itself seemed odd and yet old, proud and gave Dorian the impression of forests for some reason.  


“You aren’t—“ Oswin’s voice seemed like he was at the end of his patience. Dorian rolled his eyes; the old slave always coddled new slaves or injured ones. It made him smile slightly as he began to walk towards the noise, thinking he might settle whatever was wrong.  


“Do not tell me my own limits, Hahren Shemlen.” Came the bitter answer. It was winded this time. The word “shemlen” suddenly brought images of turquoise hate. Dorian stopped under the arch to find the three slaves.  


The red-headed elf was clinging weakly to a column, his legs shaking. He had made it to the walkway that went around the main house some twenty feet from the infirmary hut. But his body was shaking, his limbs mere bones in skin. Oswin was trying to coax the elf back towards the cottage, Mikkel not far from the elf with his arms out to catch the stubborn fool. Dorian snorted at the sheer determination of the elf. It was boundless it seemed.  


“You haven’t been discussing physics and philosophy with yourself for the past five days!” The elf shouted in response to something Oswin said. Dorian chuckled before starting towards the trio.  


“My, you certainly are a loud one.” He commented, if only to announce his presence. The elf looked up and glared while the other two seemed surprised and quickly bowed. The elf pushed himself off the column to stand at his full height and look Dorian in the eye. Such a bold and foolish little character, he thought.  


“If I wasn’t, people may think me a slave.” The elf hissed. His skin color was better, a natural tan that was flushed from what seemed to be his first exercise since coming to the House Pavus. His hair was dirty, greasy and matted; obviously he hadn’t gotten that bath Dorian ordered.  


“Sicarius…” Oswin muttered in a scolding tone. Dorian waved it away.  


“He certainly has spirit.” He commented.  


“You are much too kind, master Dorian.” Mikkel noted meekly.  


“Please, I am many things. Kind is not one of them.”  


“That’s an understatement.” Sicarius growled. It was obvious he was struggling to keep standing, but he stood defiant.  


“What that I am many things or that kindness is not one?”  


“I can think of many things you are; none of which are polite to say.” The elf gave a bitter smirk. Dorian snorted, somehow enjoy the backhanded insults.  


“And here I thought you were quite taken with me.”  


The elf rolled his eyes. “With a magister? I’d sooner give myself to a Qunari.” Dorian chuckled.  


“Sicarius,” Oswin yanked the elf’s arm, making the man lose his balance and stagger to the side. “This is Master Dorian, your master.” The two glared at each other. The elf seemed about ready to kill the old man by the time he looked back at Dorian. The amount of disgust and hatred that clouded what had to be a sea inside his eyes made Dorian recoil.  


“You may own my body, but you can never own my soul, shem. Do what you wish, I submit nothing.” He growled. Dorian blinked, dumbfounded. Did the elf know why he was bought? Or did he just assume? Or was that just his prior experiences?  


Before he could respond, Oswin smacked the elf’s all too small frame. Dorian winced as pain flickered in Sicarius’s eyes before he gave a short and bitter laugh. Somehow that laugh sent shivers through Dorian, something just entirely off, enough to unsettle him.  


“That is unneeded, Oswin.” Dorian commented, coolly. “He is right, I don’t own him, no one could.” Then Adelina burst into the back, running from a slave woman who looked about ready to scream. The child was grinning evilly as she beelined to Dorian, wearing no shoes and in her nightshirt. Was it truly that late? Dorian bent down to snag her as she gave the slave who was apparently trying to put her to bed a mischievous look.  


“Dori! You’re home!” She shouted hugging his neck as he picked her up. He winced at the shrillness of her voice digging daggers in his head. Then she looked at the other three men, narrowing in on Sicarius. Her eyes went wide. He gave an amused smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. “Sicar…how…why is he here Dori?” She asked. Dorian chuckled at the sheer confused happiness on her face.  


“Father bought him five days ago, Lina.” He told her calmly. You’d think he’d just told her she could have dessert for every meal the way she smiled and looked back at the elf.  


“So you won’t be hurt for doing not bad things anymore!” The elf furrowed his eyebrows, but he didn’t say anything. Then she started to frown. “Your hair is a nest.” Dorian bit back a chuckle as she quoted him. The elf snorted.  


“Well da’asha I haven’t seen a comb in a week let alone a bath.” He remarked drily.  


“Ossy, you can show him where servants take baths.” Oswin bowed his head with a loving smile on his withering face. “And my name is Adelina.” She pouted at the elf who chuckled.  


“Da’asha.”  


“Adelina.”  


“Da’asha.”  


“Ad-a-li-na.” She said slowly as the elf kept what seemed to be an infuriating smile.  


“Da-ash-a.” He mimicked. She furrowed her eyebrows and glared with all her might. Dorian bit another laugh down.  


“My name is Adelina, like yours isn’t Sicarius.” It was Dorian’s time to be confused. He looked at the little girl in his arms.  


“What?” he asked, making her look back at him for a moment. The look she gave him was one of are-you-deaf-and-dumb?  


“His name isn’t Sicarius, but that’s what we should call him.” She stated it like it was something everyone knew. Dorian looked at the elf who was still smirking.  


“Smart girl.” He commented as Adelina was taken by the woman. Adelina whined about having to go to bed, trying to bribe the servant to let her stay up. Dorian chuckled to himself.  


“Yes, well. Oswin be sure he gets a real bath soon. And gains weight, it’s like talking to a skeleton.” He noted with a snort. The elf dropped his good humor to glare at Dorian again. The sun had fully set and the insects were starting come out in droves. Dorian waved them away before heading inside to raid the kitchens and eat in his room. While he was walking, he felt the eyes of not-Sicarius follow him like a caged animal. Or a predator from the shadows, putting Dorian on edge as he disappeared into the mansion.  


*****  


It was a few days later that Dorian saw that fiery elf again, in an unsuspected way.  


It was mid-afternoon when Dorian and Felix arrived at the Pavus’s house. It was supposed to be a quick stop to grab some of Dorian’s books for Alexius and maybe something to eat while they walked. Felix chatted happily about some trip he was to take with his mother or something. Dorian wasn’t paying much attention to his friend.  


Servants bowed as they walked passed up the stairs to the family quarters. Dorian slowed as he noted his door was closed. He didn’t leave it like that. It wasn’t like closing his door meant Adelina wouldn’t just open it, and he kept everything worth anything out of her little arm’s reach. He furrowed his eyebrows. She could have closed the door, perhaps in a game or whatever she found to do during the day. He’d better not have her “works of art” over his walls…again.  


He frowned as he pushed open the door into the front room. What awaited him was his normal room with its fireplace, balcony access, a desk and bookshelves…with a red headed elf lounging on his couch in front of the fire. Both the men blinked as the elf turned his head slightly to look at the door behind him. He had one leg over the back of the couch, the other over the arm.  


“What—“ Dorian began.  


“Don’t ask me. I was just told to report here, shem.” The elf answered turning back to stare out the open balcony door.  


“You know, I’m getting tired of that insult.” Dorian growled, as Felix bit his tongue.  


“It means ‘quick’. If that helps, which it won’t probably.” Sicarius noted bored. He began to swing his leg over the couch as though to a song. Dorian noted how his wounds were all clear now, mere greenish bruises and scars. His ribs weren’t as pronounced. And that his hair was damp and beginning to curl and wave as it dried. At least he was clean.  


“Who told you to wait here?” Dorian asked walking to his bookcases. He felt the elf watch him like a predator again. He shivered slightly, feeling his back being exposed.  


“The old man, Oswin. Said to come here after I bathed. Here I am.” Dorian snorted at the sound of sarcastic triumph in Sicarius’s voice.  


"I’m surprised you listened.” Dorian noted turning to him still lounging. He wasn’t expecting the near-dead look he got from the elf. Dorian actually recoiled. Felix walked in causing the flat eyes to flicker to him and back to Dorian.  


“Who said I did?” The elf gave a challenging look before beginning to braid his hair. It was odd to see a man easily plate his hair…well it was odd to see a man with hair passed his waist. Sicarius cocked an eyebrow at Dorian. “You never seen someone braid before, shem?”  


“I’ve never met a man who had enough hair to braid.”  


Sicarius gave a short laugh, “Well I’m an elf, right?” he noted drily as he began to braid another on the other side of his skull. “And just so we are clear. I don’t do threesomes.” Both Felix and Dorian’s eyes grew wide and began to balk. Dorian opened and closed his mouth multiple times, words suddenly lost in his mind. “I also don’t do role-playing or whatever it is you call it. You want that, you go find an Orelsian elf.” Sicarius stood then, glaring at the two.  


“I think you misunderstand…” Felix began. The elf turned towards him, halting his words for a moment with eyes of icy sea-colored disgust. Felix turned towards Dorian. “Uh, Dorian? You didn’t just buy…” Dorian winced at the accusatory look he gave.  


“What? No. I didn’t even buy him!” Dorian sputtered out. Felix rose an eyebrow. “My father bought him and gave him to me. I did not say in any way possible that I would…” Sicarius snorted.  


“That got lost in this month’s copy of Slave Monthly…” Dorian looked at the elf. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or strangle him. “If I’m not your sex pet, what the hell am I doing here?” Dorian pinched his nose, turning back to find his books.  


“I haven’t a clue. I didn’t ask for you.” Dorian muttered.  


“You are so kind, shemlen. It’s so nice to know I am unwanted. Remind me to send you a fruit basket.” Sicarius rolled his eyes while he began to braid the rest of his hair into one long braid. From somewhere, he produced a string to tie it. Dorian glared as he pulled books from the selves.  


Felix chuckled. “Well, he could be your manservant.” He suggested quietly. In response, he got two heads turning towards him with nearly identical glares. He laughed. “He has the same attitude as you.”  


“And unicorns are real.” Sicarius hissed. Dorian snorted walking to Felix and shoving a stack of books into his arms. Felix laughed and took the books as Dorian picked up the other stack.  


“Well what can you do?” Felix probed the elf. He got an odd look. Like the man was contemplating how best to answer.  


“You mean aside from look pretty?” Felix smirked. “More than your other slaves probably.”  


“Such as?” Dorian prodded, making the icy glare turn to him. It was like looking into the eyes of a snake. Dorian tried his best to match the glare.  


“Are you any good at fighting or alchemy?” Felix asked quickly, noting the tension in the elf. After another moment of glaring at Dorian, he dropped his eyes with a sigh.  


“Hunting, fishing, tending to the wounded. Don’t ask me to cook unless you want burnt food. I can make tea and incenses. I learned how to play…” The elf fidgeted trying to remember, “A stringed instrument…you have to pull a thing across the cords…”  


“A cello? Violin? Viola? Harp?” Dorian supplied. The elf looked unsure and uncomfortable.  


“Sure. Learned that. I’m not good at it. Herbs, animals, not that that’s much a concern in this stone prison of a city.” Felix motioned for the elf to follow them out the door. “Poisons.” The elf muttered as he walked behind them. Both the mages froze and looked at him in disbelief. He gave a chilling smirk. “I’m not good at fighting with swords and whatnot, but brawls I can handle, or a dagger.” A flash of pain came into his eyes, so quickly Dorian wasn’t sure he had seen it.  


“Well…” Felix took a moment to try to collect whatever thoughts he had after the word ‘poisons’. “Dorian might benefit from having a guard.”  


Dorian snorted. “Yes, I’m sure my father would just love that. Give the barbaric and defiant elf a weapon!” Sicarius actually snickered as they began to descend the stairs to the foyer.  


“What would you rather have: a sex slave or a slave guard? Because I’m not going to wait on you hand and foot, shem.” Sicarius walked next to Dorian, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. Dorian sighed loudly reaching the end of the stairs.  


“Fine, we’ll get some armor and a dagger after I met with Alexius. Maker help us.” Dorian growled, earning a smile from Felix. Maker he thought too much of Dorian… But then he looked at the elf who had what seemed to be a smile forming. Or he was just biting his lip. What did he just agree to?  


*****  


When they came back to the Pavus manor, Sicarius was a bit more lively. He dropped the dead look, having been told numerous times Dorian had no want to use him like that. It was like he had resigned himself to not feeling his body and after much assurance he could let himself feel again. Dorian wanted to know how he had come to the conclusion that he was to be used like that. He wanted to ask, but didn’t. The elf wasn’t his friend.  


In fact, Dorian kept watching his hands when they moved. He was afraid to walk ahead of him at all with the dagger sitting on his hip. He tried not to notice how Sicarius held his head up higher in armor, how he seemed to be more comfortable with his body protected. And how he looked rather dashing, wild and dangerous yes, but attractive none the less. Dorian snapped his thoughts away as they entered the mansion.  


The other servants got wide-eyed looks as Sicarius walked down the hall with Dorian. They bowed and scurried to keep far from the elf who got a devilish smirk.  


“Do you enjoy scaring people?” Dorian asked as they started for the dining hall. It was diner time (or so he was told) and he figured he might as well break the news quickly and during a pleasant family time.  


“I enjoy people leaving me alone.” The elf gave a glare.  


“You are just so delightful at conversation.” Sicarius just snorted in response. A servant quickly noted Dorian’s approach and opened the large doors into the dining hall. It was large enough to house extravagant parties, but tonight a single table was set up under the chandelier. His mother and father were already seated, awaiting their dinners. It was odd to see both of them together for once. One was usually somewhere else, the study or drawing room.  


“Dorian,” his mother gave her patient smile. “I was afraid I’d have to send someone to scour Minrathous.”  


“Again.” Sicarius muttered earning him a glare. The elf met it with a devil-may-care stare that made him drown suddenly.  


“My mother has never sent anyone to find me.” Dorian hissed at the elf.  


“Really? Again Slave Monthly says differently. You should really check it out sometime.” Sicarius got a smug grin bringing up his false publication. Dorian frowned and walked to his seat. His parents were also frowning and watching the armored elf post himself near the door. The elf crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching. Again Dorian thought of some predatory animal, a large jungle cat perhaps lounging on a branch and watching below, tail flicking.  


“What is he…doing?” His mother asked. She glared at the elf for a moment before turning her cold gray eyes to him.  


“Watching. He likes doing that.” Dorian dodged, putting a napkin on his lap.  


“Why?” His father’s blunt tone betrayed anger. Dorian suddenly felt caught between two predators. He wasn’t sure which he would rather be killed by his father or Sicarius.  


“Well, he isn’t much for taking orders and he is certainly intimidating and since you,” Dorian glared at his father, “bought him for me, I thought I should at least try to find a use for him. So I made him my guard.”  


“You gave him a weapon?” his mother choked a bit on her wine, quickly composing herself.  


“Technically, Lady Pavus, my hair could be a weapon.” Sicarius noted. Aine seemed about ready to shock the life out of the elf by her glare. Dorian looked back at him and tried to will him to shut up. The elf shrugged and went back to watching.  


“And I don’t want him anywhere near my food.” Dorian mumbled as the food was brought out.  


*****  


Dinner was…tense. Afterwards, his father demanded his presence in his study. There Dorian was yelled at and whatnot. Sicarius was sent to Dorian’s rooms. Dorian’s head was pounding by the time he pushed his door closed and sighed loudly.  


“Your parents are so charming. Like snakes,” The elf noted after a moment of silence. Dorian snorted.  


“Are you trying to make me feel better?” Dorian turned towards him. He was standing in the middle of the room. His face was lit by the fireplace and sconces, but the moonlight haloed him. Sicarius fidgeted suddenly looking out of place.  


“Why would I care about making you feel better?” the man hissed. Biting sarcasm, that was normal. So was the disapproving stare he gave. Dorian walked passed him to shut the balcony. It was warm and humid as always, but he wasn’t in the mood for the tropical winter. He was more in the mood for Southern winter, that would certainly match how he felt.  


Dorian then turned to the elf. “You are free to go get dinner.” The elf looked sideways.  


“Yeah, no I’m not.”  


Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”  


“Your mother said I was a disrespectful gnat and for my disrespect earlier I am denied meals for a day.” The elf seemed ok with it, like it didn’t bother him. Dorian blinked, dumbfounded. “If I do it again, she’ll have me lashed and if I harm a single strand on your head I get roasted inside out.” Dorian’s mouth fell open slightly.  


Sicarius looked around for a moment before looking at Dorian. Quietly he walked up to him and clicked his mouth shut for him. “You look like a fish.” He noted with a straight face. Dorian took a step back feeling a sudden warmth come to life in his chest.  


“She…denied you meals for a day just for…” Dorian began. How could his mother…He couldn’t even think the thought. His mother’s slaves were rather venomous in temper like their mistress, at least towards other slaves. But then again, Sicarius was that way to everyone.  


“Being mouthy. Honestly, I think she should be denied her meals and lashed. The woman is more akin to a viper.” Sicarius muttered looking away. Dorian should have cared that he was insulting his mother, but he could only agree at this point. “So…Your father is really loud.”  


“Are you trying to subtly say you heard our argument?” Dorian shook his head walking to his couch and flopping down. The elf walked to the side. He shifted uncomfortably like he was unsure what to do.  


“I was never good at subtly.”  


“Is there a point to you still being here?” Dorian asked, his tongue lashing out unknowingly. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the elf’s fault his father yelled at him. Well it was partially his fault for being so...rebellious. He was about to take back the words when he heard a snort.  


“To make your headache worse of course, Master Dorian.” The word master was so over the top Dorian looked at the elf. The elf smirked, his turquoise eyes glinting green in the dim light. Why did elves have to have such pretty eyes?  


“Don’t do that again.” Dorian said, tearing himself away from the man’s eyes.  


“Whatever you say, Master Dorian.” Dorian growled to himself as the elf chuckled. It was a lifeless chuckle, like he just thought he should laugh but found nothing funny. Dorian again wondered why he seemed so dead and yet so fiery and alive. What had happened to him prior to this? But he refrained from asking, despite his want to know. Which was odd that he had that much restraint with the elf, finding a patience he wasn’t known for.  


“I do have a question though.” The elf broke Dorian away from his thoughts. He waited for Dorian to look at him before continuing. “Why did your father buy me?” Dorian winced.  


“Why do you ask me?” He managed. The elf held his gaze.  


“Because I was told I was for you, but I can’t fathom why someone would buy me for someone else, unless it was another whorehouse.” Dorian’s eyes widened. The elf looked away towards the fire, rubbing his arm.  


“My father bought you for the reason you thought you were here for.” Dorian gave, not feeling like he had to justify anything. But he did deserve an answer.  


“But you don’t want that?” Dorian shook his head again. His headache was getting worse.  


“I told you, I won’t use a slave like that.” He felt the other’s eyes watch him with interest before they looked back at the fire. “Now, you should return to your quarters.” The elf blinked before nodding and starting for the door.  


His footsteps paused at the door, “I…” The elf stopped. “Good night, shemlen.” And then he walked out quietly, leaving Dorian to wonder why he smiled at hearing the word ‘shemlen’.  


*****  


They quickly fell into a comfortable routine. Sicarius would wait for Dorian in his room every morning after breakfast. Slaves ate their meals prior to the family, so he was also allowed to bathe before seeing to Dorian, something that was unusual for a slave but Dorian would rather have an overly clean guard than one who smelt like death. Afterwards they’d depart for Alexius’s or whatever Dorian had to do that particular day.  


In a short few days, Dorian got used to Sicarius’s quiet staring. He no longer felt like he was prey being watched. Mostly. He figured out there were differences in the elf’s looks. What Dorian dubbed the predatory look was soon reserved for unknown peoples or the few who came too close to Dorian and Felix sometimes. Otherwise, the elf would merely watch, especially hands. He got a cautious look when people used their hands or went for or offered something.  


Sicarius didn’t talk much, which Dorian found odd. Especially when the man was so outspoken before. But it seemed he didn’t wish to talk. He’d stare out the window or watch people go about their business in a silent statue kind of way. Dorian wasn’t sure which he preferred. Silence was unnerving, but the back-talk was…bearable if not punishable.  


But what became apparent was there was something going on no one knew. Occasionally bruises appeared on the elf. Dorian asked once while Felix was around (the elf was usually in a better mood with Felix for some reason) and all he got was ‘none of your concern, shem.’ Dorian let it go if only to avoid being stabbed later.

Still Dorian worried about the elf. Being Dalish marked him as an oddity in Tevinter. People stared and the elf became uncomfortable. Fellow slaves either shied away or glared. It was like the tattoos on his face marked him as a pariah more than Dorian’s behavior ever could. He wasn’t sure Sicarius was handling it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my mindlessness...I swear it starts getting better soon...I hope. I'm not really the best judge on that...


	4. Shemlen Sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story time with a Dalish.

“So, not-Sicarius,” Felix joked after getting told about the elf’s not-name. “find anything interesting out there?” The elf snorted staring out the library window. Alexius’s library was cozy with a fireplace and walls lined with bookshelves. Dorian’s family library was larger and more spacious, but he felt more at home here. Another servant laid out some tea on the table that was becoming buried in books.  


“I think I saw someone get mugged.” The elf noted drily after the door clicked shut. Dorian turned around in his seat to look at the elf. A large bruise was beginning to heal on his lower jaw. But aside from that he looked healthy, well better than he had when he came. Sometimes Dorian had found him exercising passed curfew, saying he’d be of no use if simple actions fatigued him. But Dorian felt he just didn’t want to sleep if the bags under his eyes were anything to go on.  


“Fascinating bit of Tevinter culture there.” Dorian quipped. Sicarius looked over to the two. His eyes shone brightly. Everyday he changed how he wore his hair, usually there was a braid somewhere and never was it just down. Though he had somehow managed to find feathers to braid into it today. It was a simple braid, no braids along his skull or little braids braided into the larger one. Just a braid with some feathers in it.  


“Was there something you needed?” Sicarius asked, his voice sounding hollower each day. Dorian winced, finding he missed the spitfire attitude more than anything. He couldn’t find a reason why the elf would become so desponded.  


Felix and Dorian shared a quick look before Felix spoke, “Actually I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your people.” The elf narrowed his eyes.  


“Why?”  


Felix held his hands out in a surrender motion. “Just curiosity. We don’t have Dalish in Tevinter, in case you didn’t notice. And I doubt Genitivi got it all right in his books.”  


The elf snorted looking back at the old city with his arms crossed. Silence spread, uncomfortable silence like they had just touched a nerve. Dorian turned back to his book, Felix looking uncomfortable.  


“You may ask, but know that not all Dalish are the same. I can tell you about my clan, however.” Sicarius finally gave. He didn’t look at the humans, and continued to keep his arms crossed as he watched Minrathous bustle around.  


“Well, uh,” Felix stuttered, “how about how many clans are there exactly?”  


“Numerous, though fewer every year it seems. Humans do not take kindly to we wanderers, whether because of greed or fear. We try to leave before tensions boil over but some aren’t very lucky.” Pity hit a note inside the humans as Sicarius spoke in an even tone, watching his own reflection with eyes that were far away. Dorian distracted himself by noting the odd accent that seemed to become more prevalent.  


“I’m so—“ The elf turned towards Felix with a glare.  


“Apologizes do not bring the dead back or correct the past.” He hissed before looking away quickly. He seemed to collect himself for a moment, letting out a tense breath. “But…at least you try, shem. ‘Tis more than most.” Felix watched the elf for a moment, like he was afraid to get bit again.  


“Do you know many other clans?” Dorian tried. Sicarius gave him a quick glance before turning to face them completely.  


“I know only of a few. The Sabre clan, famous now because of the Hero of Ferelden. I knew her before, and Tamlen. Pity what happened, but I suppose the Creators had a plan for her. There’s the Ralaferin clan who are a bit…odd. One of their Keepers shared Dalish lore with scholars. Clan Lavellan, my clan. We roam around the borders of the Free Marches. Unlike many of our people, we were open to dealing with fairly with shemlen, if a bit wary of them. There are a few others, but those come to mind. Every ten years all the clans gather, and it seems fewer come each time.”  


“So how do you correctly say what clan you are from?” Felix asked awkwardly. The elf smirked.  


“Like how you say of House Alexius or House Pavus. It’s more of a title to us than a last name, though there’s many of those in a clan.”  


“Well what’s your’s?” Dorian probed. The elf eyed him again.  


“Istmaethoriel.” Dorian frowned, sure Sicarius was being an ass. The elf gave a quick laugh.  


“I’m not even going to try to pronounce that.” Felix laughed. “I take it that’s not some strange elven phrase for idiot, but a surname?”  


“My father’s yes. My mother was…traded to our clan for my father.” Sicarius looked like he couldn’t find the right word in his head.  


“What do you mean?” Felix questioned.  


“It’s…complicated. We have…Keepers. We—They are our mages. They guide and protect the clan and keep the lost lore. Each Keeper takes an apprentice, their First, who will succeed them. There’s always a back up, the Second, but we only allow three mages to a clan. And sometimes a clan may not produce any mages. So a clan that has more than three usually will give one to that clan. Also it is not unusual for people from different clans to marry. Like my mother.” The elf began using his hands to talk which was a pleasing break from the stoic stance.  


“So you…trade mages, brides and husbands?” Dorian asked, unsure of whether to be appalled or dazzled. Sicarius winced.  


“The stories say all elves had the gift once. But it was lost, so like with everything we make due, we share, but most importantly we stick together.”  


The humans nodded, thinking over how different that world might be. A place without mages being everywhere. A life of roaming, and uncertainty. It was an odd concept to the two who had known exactly what would happen in their life the moment they found their magic (for the most part anyway).  


“So, should we call you Ishmae…,” Felix started; his tongue tripped on the vowels so close together. Like he didn’t know their sounds when placed next to each other. Sicarius laughed sincerely.  


“Outside my clan as I am, I would be known as Lavellan, part of a whole rather than one person.” He explained. “It is still odd to me that humans do not organize themselves by Clan. Seems very tiresome and confusing dealing with Houses and what have you in the same area…” Lavellan looked generally confused by it.  


“Lavellan suits you more than Sicarius.” Felix noted.  


“And we can pronounce it…” Dorian muttered under his breath.  


“I would hope so. It is my name after all.” The elf snorted drily. “Any other questions your shemlen books failed to answer?”  


“I got one.” Dorian gave the elf a challenging grin. “If ‘shem’ means quick, what does shemlen mean?”  


Lavellan snorted. “Quick children, or quick child. You know I never did understand why ‘len’ was both child and children. Were elves just averse to having different plurals?” The elf shook his head making the humans laugh.  


“If I’m not mistaken, you don’t seem older than us and yet you call us children?”  


“I’m twenty-eight shem.” Lavellan gave another of his devil-may-care looks. Dorian blinked.  


“Oh so you are older. Still a five year difference isn’t enough to earn the right to call me a child.” Dorian muttered, watching the elf bite his lips again. Did he do that to keep himself from smiling?  


“You know I said nearly the same thing before…all this.” Suddenly his eyes darkened and he looked away. Pain flared in his eyes like an unpleasant memory. Dorian winced.  


“Care for some tea?” Felix interrupted. He motioned towards the extra cup on the tray. “I promise I’ll keep Dorian from biting you.” Dorian glared at his friend who laughed. The elf fidgeted for a moment, looking at the closed door before moving to sit at the table. He sat one chair away from them, on Dorian’s side but it was a step forward at least.  


“Ma serannas.” The elf muttered as he took the cup. He stared at it oddly for a moment before pouring himself tea and taking a sip. He made a face that Dorian had to bite his tongue not to laugh at. “This is tea?” He questioned furrowing his eyebrows.  


“What? Not up to Dalish standards?” Dorian quipped. The elf sniffed the air for a moment.  


“I’m just wondering whose piss you call tea. It’s bland, for one. I thought you Tevinters loved spices and extravagant flavors?” Felix laughed at the offended tone.  


“Father prefers this kind of tea in the spring. There’s an art I suppose to which flavors go with each season.” He explained. It was true, each season had its own selection of teas and acceptable treats and dishes. The elf looked bewildered.  


“Apparently spring is dull and bland time?”  


“There’s some citrus in there.” The elf snorted at the Altus.  


“Not real citrus. If you ever tasted one of those fruits you grow in your garden, you’d realize this was some extract shit you shems love.”  


Dorian chuckled. “And how do you know?”  


Lavellan turned to him, meeting his challenge with a straight face. “Once we traded with a shemlen caravan near Orlais. In return for some weapons and baskets, we received some of the fruit they had along with some extracts. They told us the things would taste and smell just like the real stuff and we could use it in tea, food, baths, whatever. It tastes nothing like the real thing. Too sweet and medicine-like. Fake.”  


“Put some sugar in it and quit whining.” Dorian told him. He earned a glare.  


“Shemlen must have bred their taste buds away.” Lavellan grumbled, frowning into his glass.  


“Perhaps one day you’ll show us what true tea is supposed to taste like.” Dorian joked, “Minus the poison hopefully.” The elf snorted as his sipped.  


They let the man drink and eat in peace, they going back to combing through books for something or other. Many questions nagged their brains, but they bit their tongues afraid the elf would shut down again if they touched another nerve.  


Felix broke first. He closed his book and looked at Lavellan who was studying the bindings of a stack of books near him. “Can you read?” he inquired innocently.  


Lavellan’s head snapped up. Dorian thought he looked offended and Felix winced. Then the elf smirked. “Not your crazy language, but the trade tongue, yes.” Dorian was surprised.  


“You mean you have books in your forests?” He asked in a joking tone. His conscious told him that may have been too much of a dig, but the elf snorted.  


“Not that we only live in forests, but yes we have books. Many of them are so old the Keeper locks them in a chest. Those are usually in elvish though. I’ve traded a few things for shemlen books before, and some of our history is written in the trade tongue.”  


“Any you particularly like?” Felix prodded with a smile. Common ground had suddenly come into view.  


“I read _The Rose of Orlais_ once. _The Adventures of the Black Fox_ was another one I liked. Oh and I’d gotten my hands on a few volumes of _Hard in Hightown_ before. I was a bit confused, but liked them well enough.” Lavellan grabbed another cookie from the tray and shot Dorian a challenging glare as he smirked.  


“You also apparently like sweets.” He noted as the man took a bite.  


“We don’t get a lot of sweets. Sugar is one of those rare commodities and we can’t exactly lug ovens in our aravels.” He growled making the two laugh. “So yes, I like your shemlen sweets.”  


“Well perhaps you should start and dazzle the world with mobile bakeries.”  


The elf bit his lips again, a snort coming out as he tried not to laugh with a mouthful. He chewed and swallowed with a bit of trouble. “Yes our halla would enjoy that.”  


“Halla?” Felix asked, having heard the word before in the market place.  


“They are…like deer. They pull our aravels and take us where we need to go. In return, we care for them, shelter them, tend to their horns and whatnot.”  


“So they are your horses?”  


The elf made a face again. “No. We ride them but never with saddles or harnesses. You can never force a halla to do anything she does not want to. She is an equal, not a servant.”  


Dorian noted how Dalish never tried to subjugate anything it seemed. Perhaps because they tried so hard to remember the past? Or slavery was still a fresh wound for them? He wasn’t sure if that was healthy or not to cling so tightly to the past. Tevinter did it enough and it wasn’t always for the better.  


“Why is halla a she?” Felix investigated, leaning back in his chair. Lavellan put his hands on the table and tapped a rhythm out on the wood thinking.  


“Well, I suppose it has something to do with our gods. The original halla was Ghilan’nain. She was a follower of Andruil, goddess of the hunt, who was rewarded for her devotion to animals.”  


“She became a goddess?” Dorian asked, seeing some similarities between the religions.  


“The goddess of navigation. I recall she was blinded at some point in the story or was born blind or something. There was also a poacher in there too. It’s been awhile since I’ve heard the tale.” Lavellan gripped his nose as though trying to think hard.  


“Genitivi said you tattoo symbols of your gods on your faces.” Felix commented, hinting at wanting to know about the elf’s own tattoos in their bloody red glory. Lavellan looked at him warily for a moment. “Unless that’s some heavily guarded secret.” Felix smiled to show he meant nothing by it.  


“This book, I’d like to read it sometime.” He said blankly, filling his cup again. “But it’s called vallaslin, blood writing.” Dorian furrowed his eyes. Was it a type of blood magic or something? The elf noted the disapproving looks of confusion with a laugh. “Our blood is mixed with ink and tattooed on us. It is a ritual, but not blood magic, not that I’d expect anyone in Tevinter to mind blood magic.”  


“Not every mage in Tevinter practices blood magic,” Dorian snapped. The elf studied his face for a moment.  


“Congrats on being part of the sane one percent of your insane country.” Suddenly Dorian’s ire cooled at the joke. He blinked as the elf smirked and turned back to Felix. “It’s as much an act of faith as a rite of passage.”  


“For what?”  


“A child receives their vallaslin when they are ready, and their conviction to follow the Dalish ways is strong, and becomes an adult. They earn rights to marry and whatnot.” He took a sip. “You aren’t allowed to make a noise while it’s happening so you have to prepare a lot for it.”  


Felix and Dorian looked at him with equal parts curiosity and confusion. “You can’t make a sound while someone’s taking a _needle_ to your _face_?” Dorian asked.  


Lavellan laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah it hurts like hell. But if you are firm in your belief isn’t the worst pain worth it? We give ourselves to our gods, we take weeks to reflect on them, on the teachings and everything. When we finally receive the marks, it’s…just wonderful.” He gave a true smile as he closed his eyes. Dorian felt a sudden light feeling at seeing that soft smile.  


“And the tattoos are symbols of your gods, yes?” Felix probed. The elf nodded.  


“I suppose they are symbols of whoever we choose as our patron god.”  


“Well what’s yours then?” Dorian rested his head on his hand as he watched the elf. That smile stayed, which kept that light, warm feeling in his chest alive. He tried to ignore it as best he could.  


“Mythal. Or at least the ones on my face are.”  


“And who’s Mythal?” Felix continued his questioning.  


“She is…the protector of the people. She stands for justice, motherhood, and protection. She created the world alongside Elgar’nan, god of vengeance and fatherhood.” Dorian snorted at how the god of fatherhood was also the vengeance god. How odd that the elves just described his father.  


“And you apparently have other ones?”  


“Didn’t you see him at the Aelianus’s party?” Dorian quipped making Felix laugh.  


“Of course you’d notice, Dorian.” Felix joked. The elf looked between them as though unsure of what was going on. But Lavellan didn’t comment or ask, which was either good or bad, Dorian wasn’t sure which. Not that he cared what the man thought…  


“I have tattoos all over me. Most of them are Mythal, branches and roots. But on my back is Dirthamen’s raven…Well in an abstract symbolic way it’s a raven. I have a few other ravens hidden in the branches, but they are hard to find.” He shrugged.  


“Dirthamen is…” Dorian prodded.  


“The Keeper of Secrets.”  


“Why do you have his markings then? Doesn’t justice and secrets clash?” Felix commented.  


“Normally yes. I…am a unique case though. He’s as much about knowledge as secrets. It is said that when my ancestors passed into Uthenera, the eternal dream, he would teach them the secrets of life. And he also embodies loyalty and family.”  


“How in the Maker’s name does a god of secrets embody loyalty and family?” Dorian rubbed his head not making sense of the pantheon.  


“He’s from Tevinter.” Lavellan said in such a straight tone, Dorian nearly missed the joke. It took him a second to blink at the elf’s sly joke before he laughed. Felix snickered. Lavellan gave a laugh, a real laugh with them. Dorian tried hard to ignore the happy feeling inside him at hearing it. And the urge to hear it again.  


“Why ravens though?” Felix asked once they got themselves settled again.  


“Well, the story goes he was twin soul to Falon’din, the guide of the dead and god of fortune. They went everywhere with each other, never straying far from the other.  


“One day they came across a halla or deer maybe. So old she could no longer move. The creature was obviously in pain and sadness, so they asked her what was wrong. She told them she could not walk any longer to cross the Veil and enter the Beyond. Falon’din felt such pity or sympathy for the creature, he gathered her in his arms and walked across the Veil. But Dirthamen could not follow him.  


“For the first time they were apart. Two ravens perched upon his shoulders. The raven called Fear whispered to Dirthamen that Falon’din had left him all alone. The other, Deceit, told him lies about his brother never returning, not loving him. Dirthamen bade the ravens be gone and scattered them with an oak branch. He told them his brother would not leave him alone. So he mastered Fear and Deceit, and used another branch to help him walk through the Veil and follow his brother.  


“When he got to the other side of the Beyond, he found Falon’din and the deer, now a youthful and bounding beast in an endless field, welcoming him.” Lavellan used his hands to help the story, enthralling the two with his voice. His smile was bright as he told what seemed to be his favorite tale. And they listened to the man, finding his accent to be rich and pleasing to listen to.  


“So to answer your question, Felix, Dirthamen’s symbol is a raven because with knowledge comes Fear and Deceit and you have to master those before anything…or that’s my theory. My Keeper thought it’d be fitting for me.” He concluded, drinking the rest of his now-cold tea. The sky was darkening outside, the noise from the open windows dying away slowly with the light.  


“Well, you Dalish have fascinating stories, I’ll give you that.” Dorian commented as he closed his own book.  


“My Hahren could tell it better, but glad to have kept you entertained.”  


“And you managed to distract us from our task completely.” Dorian mocked being upset.  


“I’m more interesting than your dusty tomes, shem. At least I can talk back.” Lavellan smirked. Dorian snorted in response. “But I do believe it is time for me to get you back to your mother.”  


“Please, she has no control over what I do.”  


“Yes well I don’t feel like being yelled at, lashed, and starved, not necessarily in that order, because you didn’t come home. So either I get to drag you through the streets or you go of your own free will.” Dorian gave him a glare. Could he actually drag him anywhere? Somehow, Dorian thought he could. Perhaps it was the lean muscles the elf was building back slowly or that undeterred stubbornness that was unending.  


“Fine.” Dorian growled before standing up. “Same time tomorrow, Felix?” he asked as the other was replacing the books onto the piles. A servant would come and put them up, or just leave since they weren’t done.  


“Father should be back tomorrow and Reine somehow convinced him to lend me out for the day.” Felix snickered. Dorian smiled, at least one of them was happy with their lives. It just bit Dorian again that he had to marry some woman he despised. He kept denying it, forcing his parents to postpone announcing it formally to the world. He didn’t know how much longer he could do that though.  


“Well, do have fun with that, friend.” Dorian said as he walked to the door with Lavellan at his heels as usual.  


*****  


Lavellan often entertained the two with stories that he knew since childhood over the next few weeks. Dorian found that debating the elven philosophy with the Dalish was quite fun. Two different cultures throwing curve balls at each other’s way of thinking was somehow comforting. It made them think and question, helped force them to confront the short comings of their religions.  


But most of all Dorian found he merely enjoyed listening to the man talk and smile. He cursed himself for almost coveting those small smiles, the short joyous laughs. It was like an addiction that he kept feeding.  


Still something troubled the elf, Dorian saw it mostly at his own house. He’d shy from others and when they were required to stay there the elf practically clung to Dorian till well into the night.  


In a long string of staying at house Pavus, as Alexius and Halward had to attend some hearing of the Magisterium, Dorian noted how the bruising seemed to increase. He found a new one every day. At first he thought his mother but Aine Pavus couldn’t be bothered to discipline a slave herself. Adelina obviously couldn’t be the culprit and his father was gone. He thought that there was perhaps an order against the elf, but Oswin said he had received no such order. But neither did he tell Dorian where the bruises were coming from.  


Regardless of where they came from, Lavellan seemed to become that blank statue the longer they had to stay in the house. Dorian could and would sneak out to go drink, but when he found Lavellan bleeding from his skull in his room one morning, he decided to figure all of it out. After all, Lavellan was a damn good bodyguard and he didn’t want to find him dead one morning. Possibly for another reason that Dorian did not wish to acknowledge himself as well.  


*****  


Dorian mulled over his tea, watching Felix walk up to the house from the large library window. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the mahogany desk. Lavellan hadn’t reported in his room after breakfast. Instead he had met Dorian in the hallway, with a fresh split-lip and another bruise on his jaw. The elf was obviously shaky but he kept silent as Felix was shown into the room.  


Felix greeted them both cheerily before noting the tension in the room. He looked to Dorian before looking at Lavellan. His eyes widened at the bloody rag the elf was pressing to his lips. Felix opened his mouth to ask but Dorian interrupted.  


“He is playing mute today.” He grumbled, having already tried asking the stubborn mule.  


“I told you it is none of your concern, shem.” Lavellan hissed. Dorian threw his head back in frustration.  


“Are all Dalish this stubborn? Or is this just a trait from your red hair?”  


“Must be something in the water.”  


Felix watched as the two had their go’s at each other. Back and forth insults and snide comments were slung. Either neither of them slept or they were taking out their frustrations on each other. Dorian had been particularly tense the last they spoke due to some argument with his father prior to the magister’s departure.  


“Perhaps the married couple would like some time alone?” Came a cool voice from the library’s large oak doors. They all turned to Lady Aine. She stood like a statue in a fine silk dress, Adelina in her arms. Dorian glared at his mother as he stood. Felix bowed. “Felix it is so good to see you, darling.” Aine greeted in a perfected pleasant voice. “I do hope you have been keeping yourself well?”  


“Of course, Lady Pavus.” Felix answered.  


“Your mother was telling me that you and Reine might be announcing your betrothal soon.” Dorian rolled his eyes as his mother shot him an icy glare, dropping a not-so-subtle hint…again.  


“Neither of our parents have agreed on a date, but should be in the near future.” Felix rose and smiled at the woman in silver. Dorian took note of how snake like the silver made her actually.  


“Well do send us an invite when you agree, my dear.” Felix nodded politely as she strode into the room. Her eyes flickered briefly to Lavellan standing off to the side of the window. She narrowed her eyes slightly before turning back to Dorian and walking to him. “I’m going to the market, darling to pick up a few things.” Dorian rose an eyebrow. His mother do an errand? She smiled and pulled Adelina’s head to her chest, covering one of her ears. She mouthed the words ‘her birthday’ before letting the little girl come up for air.  


“And you’re leaving me with Adelina then?” Dorian noted bored. His mother frowned disapprovingly.  


“She’s been talking about spending time with her older brother for the last two days now.” His mother lightly scolded him. He shook his head as Adelina pouted. She was definitely their mother’s child. “The least you could do is cheer up.” She noted as she passed the girl to Dorian.  


Aine patted Dorian’s cheek as he gave a strained half-smile. “Now there’s a good lad.” She turned to Adelina who seemed upset. She smiled at her little daughter, “You be good and listen to what Dorian says okay?” The little girl nodded quietly, still pouting about being left with him. Can’t say he blamed her. He wasn’t the happiest person in the room at the moment. “Good. Dorian, stay out of trouble.” She said as she turned away.  


“Don’t I always?”  


“No.”  


But she paused, looking again at the slave in the corner. He avoided eye contact with her, but he did not bow. That wasn’t what upset her into furrowing her perfectly trimmed eyebrows. It was the bruises on his face. She narrowed her eyes at them.  


“You, Sicarius was it?” She spoke.  


“It’s Lavellan actually, Mother.” Dorian interjected, watching her through slits. She looked back at him briefly as though wondering how he knew that or if he was lying or something. Then she turned back to the elf who flinched at her intense gaze.  


“Lavellan then. Who gave you those?” She basically commanded. The elf glanced at her briefly then looked to the side. His mouth became a straight line as he played mute again. She narrowed her eyes again, walking up to the elf. She was a short but slender woman, coming barely to Lavellan’s eyes. Had she pointed ears, she could pass for a slightly plumper elf.  


Quickly she snatched his hand away from covering his lip and seized a hold of his jaw. Dorian took a step forward, seeing the elf freeze. But then she gently turned his head to the side, examining the bruises and tiny cuts invisible from far away. She frowned more and more as she looked.  


“Was it my husband?” She asked, forcing the elf to look her in the eyes.  


Lavellan moved his mouth to speak, closing it once as if shocked by the question. “N-no, it wasn’t the magister.” He finally broke.  


“Was it my son?”  


Both Dorian’s and Lavellan’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Dorian was about to yell at his mother for suggesting it when the elf shook his head vigorously. “No, of course not.” She nodded.  


“Good I’d have either of them lashed fiercely.” She gave a motherly look towards Dorian before turning back to the Dalish. She made musing noises, little tsk’s and murmurings that reminded Lavellan of how his own mother would mutter about him being a foolish child, calling him her poor baby whenever he came to her with some cut or scrape. “Here,” she cooed, letting her own magic flow into the elf. He jumped feeling the icy touch of her healing spell, but she held his face firmly in her small hands.  


The soreness left his jaw and pain stopped pulsating in his lip. When she let go, he moved his jaw around, testing the feel. He furrowed his eyebrows at her, finding a different woman than he had met. “Ma serannas.” He muttered.  


“That means thank you,” Felix covered quickly. She gave a quiet smile at the elf. But then it faded, and that sternness came back over her.  


“If it was not my husband or son, then it must have been another slave.” She stated matter of factly. Lavellan blinked rapidly, trying to mask his surprise. But Aine saw it nonetheless. She frowned. “Who?”  


Lavellan balked, looking around as if for a way out. Aine knew he would not tell her. Slaves had an odd mentality sometimes. One did not ‘snitch’ on another, especially if one was an outsider such as the Dalish. She surmised one or more of the other house slaves figured Lavellan to be a troublemaker or perhaps a threat. They might have even felt he was a pet slave given the rumor/reason why her husband bought him. She had seen many “pet slaves” be treated poorly for no other reason than having the master’s attention and the perception of having power. Slaves, though lowest of the low in Tevinter, competed with each other just as much as the Magisterium.  


“Very well; if you will not tell me, then I will find out myself.” Aine nodded sharply before turning to leave. Dorian blinked at his mother. Sometimes he couldn’t believe she was the same woman when his father was home. Perhaps it was because she was the head of the household when he was gone. Or perhaps it was merely because Halward was gone that she changed. He truly couldn’t fathom her reasoning, nor did he wish to.  


She paused for a moment at the door. “Dorian, why does he not have a collar?” She asked in a pleasant tone.  


“I wasn’t aware he needed one. I cannot truly own a Dalish, Mother.” Dorian rolled his eyes. He saw Lavellan begin to glare at the woman.  


“Pretty elves are often abducted when idiots don’t know who they are sheltered by.” She reasoned. Lavellan wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or complimented by the comment. He furrowed his eyebrows as he glared. If he had to wear another collar, he’d burn them all alive. Well not the little girl, but everyone else. “I’ll talk to Oswin about getting you one, dear. I don’t want some one taking advantage of you.”  


“You confuse me, shem.” Lavellan muttered. Aine smiled and laughed like when she was younger.  


“My husband says I’m good at that.” Dorian blinked. He wished she’d act like this all the time. The sorceress with a wicked tongue, a sharp mind, and a light heart. She seemed years younger, like when Dorian was still a child. He was mostly cared for by slaves, but he remembered playing with his mother quite a bit.  


“I’m not sure if I should be more fearful of this side of you or the cold-hearted viper side of you…” Lavellan admitted. Aine blinked like he spoke in elven. Suddenly Lavellan winced, and Dorian felt his mother pull her magic back. It was a mild shock, not enough to more than irritate the skin and give an adrenaline burst.  


She stared at the elf with steely eyes. “Honesty is good. Just try phrasing it better.” She smiled again. “And always be afraid of the woman who smiles. She is either pleased or planning your death.”  


Lavellan opened his mouth and shut it again. He looked confusedly at Dorian who shrugged. His mother was just like that. Dorian loved her, was sometimes infuriated by her, but he loved her.  


“Your mother scares me.” Lavellan said with a straight face. Aine laughed from the door.  


“Good. Now I must get to the market before the good shops close.” She shuddered as though that was a horrifying thought. She gave a small wave to her son and a nod to Felix before sauntering out the library.  


“She reminds me of my mother…” Lavellan muttered into the silence.  


“How in the world is your mother frolicking in the woods anything like a magister’s wife?” Dorian asked as he sat Adelina down. She looked back and forth as the two talked.  


Lavellan gave a weak smile. “My mother didn’t frolic. She was in charge of the storage pens because she had to be in control of nearly everything. My father told me many times she wasn’t always like that. At some point she was wild and girlish. Sometimes it’d slip through…when she wasn’t nit picking every aspect of your life.” Dorian snorted, shaking his head. “He said I was like her when she was younger. Calm and level headed with bravery and stubbornness matched only by the foolish and the mountains. He said I got my sense of humor from him though.”  


Dorian looked at him. His eyes were far away again, sadness in them. “You must miss them.” Felix said quietly. Dorian wanted to slap him. Of course the man missed his home.  


“What I miss is the smell of halla, the creaking of aravels. I miss sleeping under the stars. I miss the cold and my lessons. You miss many things. But missing family has no word strong enough to describe it, shem.” A dark look came over the elf like he shut himself down again.  


Dorian sat back down letting Adelina run over to the slave. She grabbed a hold of his hand. She smiled as he looked down at her. “Do you have any sisters?” She asked. The elf blinked but returned her smile.  


“I have many siblings, da’asha,” He told her, bending to her level. “Let’s see when I…left, I had four sisters, and three brothers. Well five sisters and two brothers I suppose.” He looked up as though to count them. Dorian gave him an odd look.  


“How can you go from four to five sisters?” He asked, guessing at the reason but wanted to be sure.  


“Well, Cyril hates it when I tell people she’s my brother in all technicalities.” Felix and Dorian nodded, surprised that the Dalish would allow that kind of behavior. Then Adelina tugged on him again.  


“Any like me?” She asked, twirling her little dress. He laughed.  


“Well if you point your ears like this,” He reached out and curled her ears into a point. “And you might pass for one of my baby sisters. They were about your age when I left.” He winked. Adelina giggled.  


“And when was that?” She bit her thumb. Dorian admired her for her ability to make bad moods go away. If only he wasn’t immune to her charm.  


“I was…nineteen, nearly twenty.” Dorian’s eyebrows shot up.  


“You’ve been in slavery for eight years?” His voice was flabbergasted. For being a slave for that long he certainly didn’t act like it. Most broke within a few years. Stubborn as a mountain indeed.  


“Yes, thanks for reminding me, shem.” Lavellan gave an unamused look towards Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't recall all of the details from the Dalish stories, but there you go. Those stories belong to BioWare and so does any quote that slips in here from the games...They be pesky like that.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hanging in there (if you have) this long.


	5. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their own way of dealing with bad memories: Dorian drinks and Falon takes a bath.
> 
> On a happier note, Dorian graduates from shemlen to Peacock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger (I guess that's the lingo for it?) Warning:  
> Implied sexual abuse and physical abuse.

A few days later it was Adelina’s fifth birthday. All the slaves were in a fuss to get everything ready hours before even sunrise. Falon woke in his room alone. His body hurt and ached. He felt like cockroaches and termites were marching and burrowing over his skin. He sat up and looked around.  


No one was with him, having probably left long before he woke, or right after. He groaned to himself, trying to block the images that flew to his mind. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, as though they could erase the memories.  


Falon saw flashes of someone pushing him. In the memories, he tried to protest, only to be answered with a fist to his jaw. Then came ghosts of hands he didn’t want to feel. They roamed and touched, poisoning him again. Finally, the numbness spread, like an ice barrier he’d create to protect his blind spot in a fight.  


Outside his little room people bustled about, pans and whatnot banging around. Many people were talking in quiet voices. But they seemed miles away from him. A chasm opened up between him and everyone else, driving the numbness in deeper as he stood up. His jaw stiffened as he tried to move his mouth. Bruises dotted his arms and he was sure his torso wasn’t much better.  


Falon solidified the ice wall in his mind before moving to his door. Absently he snatched his shirt and threw on the dirty thing. He hesitated opening the door. It was like he was walking into a void should he cross the threshold. But then ghosts of the night pounded against his head, forcing him to open the door and dart out. He just wanted to put himself far from it. He wanted to hide.  


Most of all he wanted to burn his skin away.  


Falon avoided all eye-contact and touching as he entered the busy hallway. Slave women were running around distributing things their mistress told them to. He was told a day ago that Mistress Aine would have something more suitable for him to wear made before the party. Can’t have a shabby slave guard.  


He frowned and turned towards the baths. It was a communal bath for the slaves, maintained by some of them. They were housed in a connected building to the quarters, which held the slave kitchen, dining area, rooms, holding cells, and pissing area.  


It was a short walk through a stone-domed hallway. Falon stopped at the archway entrance, listening for anyone to be in there. He heard a few splashes before he quietly stepped in there. It wasn’t that he was bashful about bathing with either gender, the Dalish could not afford the luxury of separate bathing times mostly. He’d just rather not have much contact with people at the moment.  


People might dissolve the fragile wall he was trying to rebuild in his head. The wall that kept him away, that held back the feeling of being used and helpless. I am not helpless, Falon told himself over and over as he looked at the three slaves bathing. None noticed him. He let out a shaky breath as he walked to a deserted area on the east side of the baths, grabbing soaps on his way.  


The baths were merely a large section of sunken floor. They were of some white stone that was smooth but still had traction to keep injuries to a minimum. The whole inner wall of the bath was low and wide stairs. The waters were routinely cleaned through some kind of spell and scents added again. Falon found they changed monthly actually. This month was rose.  


Around the pool basically were columns supporting the ceiling. In the middle of the ceiling was a skylight that had vines growing over the outside, lighting the room in a green light that reminded him of forests.  


One wall to the west were mirrors and counters with combs and towels that were shared amongst them. Most of the combs were broken somehow and the towels were nearing their last days, so it was charity but only to a point. Near the archway were soaps and whatnot. Cheap things Falon could have easily made himself with better success.  


Falon peeled off his clothes, feeling exposed beyond just being naked with strangers. He was afraid one might notice him and come close again. He drew in a breath to steel himself before stepping into the steaming water. The magic that went into the water tickled his nose and sprang to life on his skin like lightning. His magic tried to reach out as though to test the spell, find whose magic it was, but he gripped it inside his body and shoved it back in its cage. It was so weak now, he wondered if a mage could actually “cure” himself of magic. That’d make the Templars happy.  


Falon untied his long hair and undid the braid, wrapping the leather string around a rail near him. Silently he dunked himself. For a moment, time was suspended. Blood red strands waved around him, lighter than air. Down beneath the water he looked up at the coloring sky. He thought about staying there, turning into a fish or just letting his body breathe in the water. But he let out a stream of bubbles through his nose before he stood back up.  


His hair stuck to him. He ran a hand over his face to push some of it away. In all reality, he knew he should cut it, but seeing as all the other slaves kept their hair short, he felt an odd aversion to it. He did not want to be another slave. So instead he spent a good fifteen minutes rubbing the strange soap into his hair. When he first arrived to the Pavus house, he had no idea what all the soaps did. Usually there were five stacks piled like bricks. Most were just body soaps, but two stacks were odd. They smelt entirely foreign to him and were just odd.  


Evea, Aine’s hand-slave basically, nonchalantly told him they were olive oil soaps, used to clean the hair. Falon didn’t know what an olive was before Tevinter, and certainly didn’t understand how oil could be used to clean hair. He used different plants and ashes with his clan. Occasionally he was able to trade for some shem things to use in his soaps, but he mostly stuck to elfroot, crystal grace, and embrium. Elfroot was a great cleanser and the other two just had potent smells.  


Once Falon was sure he had gotten all of his head thoroughly cleaned he submerged, scrubbing his scalp and shaking the stuff out. When he came up, he combed his fingers through it. He had been “advised” not to take a comb from the counters, even if only to the baths. That was considered “stealing” and punishable by fifteen lashes max. He hated trying to comb his hair when it was nearly dry. It was an uphill battle of tangles and tiny knots that wove into his thick hair.  


Falon’s eyes darted to the entrance as a pair of elves came through. His heart sped up a degree as vulnerability crept up in his mind. He quickly tied his hair back in a simple ponytail and went to work scrubbing at his skin. He kept feeling hands, dirty hands over his skin. So he kept scrubbing. Feelings of kisses from disgusting mouths crawled their way into his mind. So he scrubbed harder. He didn’t notice until pain flared in his mind. Pink swirled around his forearm, wafting like smoke. The soap suddenly felt hot, making him drop it like he was burnt.  


His body pulsed from the minor scratches he caused, feeling raw. But raw meant he got all the residue hands off him for today. The panic that had risen as he washed died down as he told himself they had been practically sanded away. He took a breath, trying to relax himself.  


This was his ritual. The wall, the scrubbing, and finally he was ready for the end. Combing. He got out of the bath and dressed himself quickly. He didn’t care about drying himself, instead he let the water drip off him and drench his clothes. Still without meeting anyone’s eyes he walked to the other side and grabbed the most intact comb he could find.  


His eyes met his reflection’s. A bruise springing to life on the right side of his jaw, and a small cut just below his eye were all that would be left of last night. But he didn’t notice those. He traced his vallaslin with his eyes, remembering all the oaths and stories that went into them.  


He began reciting them in his mind, untying his hair. As he brought the comb through his hair, Falon pushed out the pain, the horrid feelings that arose every morning and thought of them getting caught in the teeth of the comb. Like rabbits fleeing a wolf, they ran. Each knot he brushed away was a knot inside him he combed out. Every tangle and every knot was just a feeling that he straightened, a barrier he dissolved that his mind created so he would feel worthless, helpless, and used.  


When he was done, some twenty minutes later, he felt better. He wasn’t fixed, nor could he be fixed. But he could at least face people. And tomorrow he would start the ritual again, and the next day. For however long it took for him to undo those four years of hell.  


Falon’s face might as well have been stone as he sat the comb down and began to braid his hair. It was a part of the ritual, but one he didn’t acknowledge. Not only did it bring a sense of normality to him, it reconnected him with people. Each weave brought memories of his sisters or mother braiding their hair and his. Every plate seemed to stitch together the fragmented pieces of him, drawing close the chasm he felt growing between him and everyone else.  


“You should do something fancy, Dalish.” Evea’s tell-tale Ferelden accent called as she walked beside him. She began to comb her own hair, towel wrapped firmly around her torso. “It is the little mistress’s birthday. Everyone has to look extravagant.”  


“Oh?” He said. “And how pray tell should I do something ‘fancy’?” He cocked an eyebrow.  


“Hell if I know. Just thought you forest elves loved wild and complicated things.” She shrugged. Falon gave his dead laugh. He looked at himself again in the mirror. It had been awhile since he’d done anything like he usually did when he was free. Somehow doing it felt rebellious. He thought of how all the slaves, if they had long hair, were styled. Buns, ponytails, or other plain designs.  


“You know when you smile, you remind me of a wolf…” Evea commented as a smile spread over his face. He winked sideways at her before undoing his braid.  


Falon felt excited at showing his more wild nature even in something as simple as a hairstyle. His fingers quickly wove two braids against his skull, following the contour of his skull till they hit the long strands on his neck; while he was doing that, he plated tiny braids to connect the two which were about 2-inches apart. He did the same to the other side, creating a loose strip of hair in the middle and a seashell-esque design on other side. Now if he could only find feathers…

“How you can do that is beyond me.” Evea seemed utterly confused as she watched the man’s spindly fingers weave so quickly. He turned to her, looking like some rogue elven warrior barbarian with his tattoos and Mohawk, with his wolf-grin.  


“Practice, flat-ear, practice.” He said. She didn’t mind being called flat-ear. It was a friendly jibe just as calling him Dalish was. She figured flat-ear meant elf-that-wasn’t-Dalish to a Dalish and didn’t care to listen otherwise.  


She snorted as she started to wrangle her own hair into her bun. It was simple, messy, but she didn’t care. The elf beside her chuckled before grabbing her hands. “You seriously suck at this.” He told her as he stepped behind her. She glared at him through the mirror. Her cheeks began to redden as he grabbed the comb and began to brush her hair.  


“Not everyone has your affinity for hair, Dalish.” She growled, trying to calm her nervous heart. She hated people at her back, made her uncomfortable and fidgety.  


“ ‘You should do something fancy with your hair’.” He quoted as he began to miraculously tame her curls. She hated her curls. They created almost an afro if she did not pull them tight into a bun. Once Falon was satisfied with the combing, he began to twist and weave together this or that strand. Evea winced as he pulled and tugged, not because they hurt, but because she thought they should. Then he stepped back.  


Braids criss-crossed once on the back of her skull, going away before bounding back and the strands then being used for a fishtail braid. She blinked. “You surely are some kind of rare mage…” She muttered, touching it. The man smirked and held a finger to his lips with a wink.  


“I won’t lie to you. Your hair is atrocious to work with, da’len.” He said with a sudden perfectly straight face. She turned to him and glared.  


Falon let his smirk creep back out. This was therapeutic for him. It reminded him of doing his little sisters’ hair by the fire because he ‘did better designs’. His older sister, Valyne, was always jealous of that. She liked simple, functional, styles that got the job done. Falon liked to be flashy. He was a mage, his very essence was flashy.  


Remembering how his family would roll their eyes at the odd braids he could do, made his smile genuine. Evea kept turning her head this way and that looking at the ponytail from all angles.  


“Seriously you must have sold your soul to a demon to be able to do this.” She hissed looking back at him.  


“Who knows?” he muttered as he crept away. He caught her eyes rolling in the mirror before he made for the exit. He had to get his dagger from his room before going to meet Dorian in his rooms. Falon sighed as he walked through the cramped halls.  


Breakfast was over, but Falon managed to sneak a piece of bread from the kitchens. The cook shook her grey head, but smiled at him as he disappeared towards the quarters. He had gotten used to small meals, so rather than devour the bread, he savored it. It was bland and stale, but when it hit his stomach it was delightful.  


But that bliss faded once he was in front of his door. He always dreaded going in there. Ghosts practically clawed at the door it seemed. Ghosts of many nights he chose to forget and scrub off. He took a deep breath before entering.  


Oswin turned to him as though startled. Falon narrowed his eyes at the old man. What was he doing here? He immediately became defensive, eyes flashing to his rough leather sheathe on the nightstand. Oswin seemed to figure his line of thought and smiled.  


“The mistress asked for these to be given to you.” He motioned a withered hand towards a pile of clothes on the bed. Falon relaxed.  


“Ah, thank you, shem.” He said going to look at the fabrics. There was an odd dagger sheathe on top. Falon had seen some shems that had them on their belt, they called them pesh-kabz, he just called them curved daggers. The things were designed to look curved with a rounded handle that flowed right into the blade like a wave. The sheath and hilt of this one matched with what may have been bone with flamboyant designs of blue and turquoise and greens. He had no idea what it was supposed to be aside from decorative. The sheath was carved and adorned with false jewels and a few chains.  


“The mistress was rather appalled by your ‘glorified butter knife’.” Oswin laughed as Falon picked up the dagger. The hilt was very much like a mosaic that reminded him of the peacocks with the colors. Still the dagger fit smoothly into his hand as he unsheathed it. The blade was smooth…ironbark. Falon blinked seeing the blue glint like metal but have grains of wood. He casually spun it in his hand to see how well whoever made it worked the metal. It was light and airy, cutting through the air easily.  


“Where did she find an ironbark dagger?” he asked quietly, sheathing it. He looked at the case. Sure enough under the bursts of design was ironbark, probably from the same part as the dagger as they flowed seamlessly together.  


“The Market Place gets things from all over the world, lad.” Oswin said like it wasn’t a big deal. Falon snorted. “You best get dressed, before Master Dorian thinks you ran off.”  


He waited for his door to close before he set the dagger down and turned to the clothes. They were cheap slave clothes sure, but designed to look as extravagant as a slave should look. Dark green was the primary color, so dark in the candlelight he wasn’t sure there was green. Black trousers, a sash of some sort and worn boots were among the items. Apparently wearing boots was civilized. Falon just felt odd.  


He sighed and stripped. The clothes were soft and he found darker designs hidden in the shirt. He thought they were vines and trees, but wasn’t quite sure as he threw it over his head. The pants were tight and thankfully the right length. One time he’d been given a human woman’s pants and they were not only too big in the hips but too short in the legs. That was a fun six months. The blue-green sash was embroidered in a vine design. He tied it as he would his robe’s sash, that is completely different than how the Tevinters did it.  


He smiled at the glaring difference as he tied the dagger onto the sash and strapped the bottom part to his thigh. Falon glared at the leather boots and turned to leave. He had gotten more blisters from those things than he had cut his feet on sharp rocks. He had created a sort of shoe he could tie around his ankles and the fabric protected his arch as it wrapped around his foot. But otherwise he went barefoot, if only to feel less encumbered.  


Falon took a breath before leaving his room and going to the main house.  


*****  


Dorian’s room was of course nicer. It was always warm with a fire usually going in the fireplace. The walls were light and airy. Everything seemed to be ivory and gold with splashes of blues. Falon liked it in the front room, not only because it wasn’t cramped and stuffy like his room, but because no one ever just came in. He felt safe there. Safe enough to lounge on the couch while he waited Dorian to reappear from wherever he flew off to.  


Falon closed his eyes, listening to the fire and the birds outside. The smell of wood burning brought memories of home. He smiled as the memories danced beneath his eyelids. Playing hide and go seek with the triplets. Of healing their cuts and scrapes as they sniffled. He remembered once as a child he had climbed a really tall tree. His mother hated it when he did such things. But his father would wink at him and get a devilish smirk.  


Sarrian Lavellan loved to get on his wife’s nerves. When she told him not to let the children climb trees, he snuck off to climb trees with them. Falon wasn’t an exception. They had climbed a tall tree near Starkhaven. Falon had gone farther than him and was ecstatic about it. He was so happy to have out done his father. And Sarrian just grinned and laughed with him. They had lunch up there, looking at the world like two birds.  


A fennec crept below them while they ate. His father had shushed him and told him to watch the little creature. So Falon sat, enraptured by the bundle of fur. Soon her pups bound into the clearing. They chased each other around and around the tree. They tackled and bit each other and sometimes their mother.  


Falon felt a connection to the little buggers. One was the smallest and he was particularly left out of the romping. But the mother would go over to him and lick him and try to play with him. He learned to stop and listen, watch. Animals were sometimes the best teachers. But Falon also found a connection with his father. They both had a gift with animals: Falon’s was more of an actual connection, while Sarrian’s was being able to understand them as a hunter.  


Of course that was also the day that they had learned as a matter of fact Falon was mage. Grandmother Deshanna had suspicions since his eyes changed colors occasionally but they always reverted back. But that day, his mother stormed into the clearing as his father was helping him down. Falon was about fifteen feet off the ground still when she startled him. He let go and his father tried to catch him. But Falon wasn’t there. Somehow he had become so frightened and drew enough magic to himself to actually fade step.  


He broke his arm still and probably wouldn’t have if his father had been able to catch him, but he learned he had magic.  


“You are always sleeping when I walk in here.” Dorian’s voice cut through the pleasant memory. He turned his head towards the human still with his smile.  


“It’s always so warm in here, so I nap.” He gave with a shrug.  


“You do realize this is my room right?” Falon could tell the shem meant little by it. Dorian had an odd way of behaving. He acted to be holier-than-thou, but he wasn’t. Sharp comments were merely a by product of who he was raised by it seemed.  


“Technically this is your front room. Your bedroom is over there,” Falon pointed to the open double doors that lead into the man’s bedroom to the left of the room. “It’d be different if you always found me sleeping on your bed.”  


Dorian snorted and walked into his bedroom, flipping a door closed. Falon settled himself better on the couch to await him getting dressed.  


*****  


Some two hours later, Falon had successfully falling asleep. He dreamt of chasing rabbits down an alleyway. Vines sprang to life as he gunned after the white hares. His four legs never faltered as he wove through the forest that was retaking the old city. He was confident in them carrying him to the end. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he panted.  


Panic was potent in the air he tasted. Rich and pungent as the hares tried to zigzag away. Ravens cawed above his head. Somewhere the city was on fire, smoke overriding the hares. His brain flickered to fear for a brief second before zeroing in on the little white fluffballs in front of him again. Hunger clawed and hissed in his chest.  


They wove through the old streets that began to crumble. Houses fell in chunks, fracturing into ravens that took to the sky. Soon the sky was pure black with them. The ground was grass that overgrew the stones. What buildings weren’t entirely demolished had trees growing in and around them, roots sticking through doors and limbs through windows and roofs. Flowers grew on the moss on the trunks. Moss hung down from the limbs.  


Somewhere that fire still burned, but the smell of rain and flowers overwhelmed Falon as he caught a rabbit between his teeth. Blood filled his mouth as the creature shrieked, hot, vitality that sent his instincts into a frenzy. A shift bite severed the spinal cord and brought the screech to a close. Only ravens could be heard.  


Falon’s big ears flicked around as he dropped the hare to the ground. He sniffed the air, searching. He knew better than to trust his eyes. Smells were distinguishable. Sights deceived. In the back of his mind he realized this was the Fade from the smell of fire and metal. It always smelt like that to him. There was always a fire in his dreams.  


Still he surveyed his surroundings before letting himself feast on the hare. A few minutes into the gnawing and snapping, Falon caught a pungent smell that wasn’t the carcass. He froze, lifting bloody muzzle to stare at a giant bear. It was a Great Orlesian Bear, having the funny eyebrows and what looked like a beard.  


The two predators stared at each other. Falon’s mind raced as his heart sped. Was the hare worth fighting that behemoth? No. But he wasn’t sure the bear wanted the hare so much as the thing wanted him. That thought put ice into his veins. He swallowed the piece of meat and stood up on all fours. He could run if need be, but he stood his ground as his hackles rose. The bear just stared.  


Falon bared his teeth. To wolves this was a greeting, to let another sniff your teeth was hello. He didn’t know how the bear would take it, but he tried. The bear huffed a terrible sighed as he lumbered a bit closer. Falon fought to keep his tail from tucking.  


“Aren’t you the tough one?” Came a voice. An ear flickered back towards it. He didn’t look away from the bear who stopped. Falon’s instincts told him to run, run far, run fast. But he fought to stay in his place. This was his dream, his hare, no demon could seduce him. “Or are you just stubborn?” it wasn’t like a voice, it was more like a thought he intercepted. Falon risked a glance but saw no one.  


When his eyes settled forward again an entity was glowing brightly in front of him. He yelped and jumped back, growling and hunching down as though to lunge. His heart sped up, a frightened bird in its cage. His tail went to tuck, but he kept it up out of determination. The entity had no face nor form, but the light it radiated touched his mind. It gave him a sense of amusement. The bear had disappeared and so too did the city.  


Suddenly Falon was just in a grey limbo world. He and the light thing were the only things there. He sensed magic in the entity, the same magic that had created his dream. It was warm and soft like a fire on a cold night. Or a blanket. He smelt flowers and forests, rain through leaves and snow off mountains. It made him terribly homesick as he smelt the incenses Deshanna used in her aravel. He worked hard to suppress the feeling, quell the eager to beg or cry to go home.  


Instead, Falon focused his magic around him, twisting his shape into his actual form. It was like exhaling to him now. His body groaned in his dream, a pain that came from deep inside the bones. The world seemed brighter, less smells colored it and sounds were duller, but the light was much brighter. He looked away to avoid having his eyeballs boiled.  


“What are you?” he demanded.  


“You used to be so gentle, welcoming.” It said instead. “Your heart was open and now it is shut.” Falon snorted.  


“Yes well if you open your arms wide, you beg someone to stab you.” He growled. “So I ask again, what are you?” He glared in the general direction. The light touched his mind, sort of wrapped around him. He felt warm. His body began to relax but he jerked himself away. He would not fall prey to demons.  


“I am no demon. I am called Love by some who enter here.” It told him. Falon furrowed his eyebrows. “I keep those who’d harm you away, child.” The entity again wrapped its light around him. Falon began to panic. He wasn’t sure if it truly was a spirit and not a demon. That and he wondered why a Love spirit would come to him. Why would it protect him of all people? He was fearful of love, his heart had been torn to shreds once. He wasn’t sure he could put it back together. More than that, he hated the idea of love now. So he pushed himself from the entity and kept telling himself to wake up.  


“I will be here when you are ready, da’vhenen.” Was the last thing he heard as he woke up in a fright.  


His heart was racing and his breathing was erratic. Dorian looked at him oddly as he walked back into the room. The elf looked around, touched the couch, his head, his heart as though unsure he was awake. His eyes were bright manganese blue as they searched for some horror in his head.  


“Are you alright?” Dorian asked due to the pale color the elf took on. He didn’t want him throwing up on the carpet after all. Falon snapped his head to him and closed his mouth to breathe through his nose.  


“Yeah. Just give me a moment.” He said shakily.  


“Well could you be quiet in your moment?” Dorian asked, noting the loud breathing he was doing.  


“I just had a heart attack and you want me to be quiet about it?” Falon cocked an eyebrow, generally confused. Most people were more concerned about other people than that. Of course he was a slave and no one was concerned about those. Falon glared slightly as he crossed his arms on the back of the couch and rested his chin on them.  


“If you were having a heart attack, I’d have to electrocute your heart into working again. This is just a nightmare-induced panic. One can have such a thing as a quiet nightmare-induced panic though; it involves breathing slower and more quietly.”  


Falon blinked at Dorian’s nonchalant tone as he adjusted the collar of his shirt in a mirror near his bedroom doors. Falon wasn’t sure if he should zap the mage’s ass or laugh. Falon chose the latter. It was a real laugh, one he didn’t have to force out. It was nice, airy, making him close his eyes and enjoy the light feeling he got in his chest. Elgar’nan had it really been so long since he laughed like this?  


When he settled down, he looked at the shemlen who was staring oddly at him. Falon couldn’t be sure but it looked like a smile was starting to form around his lips. But the moustache impaired Falon’s ability to see such a thing. Suddenly Falon fell into studying the man he had to call master for the past five months.  


Mostly he just watched his mouth. In the back of his mind, a part was screaming, banging on the walls. Every inch of that part said no, never again. It threw images of Kalor upon the walls of his mind. It screamed insults in his ears, hurled the ghost hands back upon his skin. Still the part of him that was wondering what it’d be like to kiss someone who had fur on their face would be like was louder.  


Quickly Falon looked away, towards the balcony. Dorian didn’t seem to note the elf’s staring as he continued to preen himself. Falon fought to control the heat that threatened to melt his heart, and the shame that came over him. He furrowed his eyebrows staring at the mid-morning sky beyond the city. Why was he ashamed? Because of wondering about kissing a shem? Possibly. That and that shem happened to be his master. But that answer didn’t sit with him. He wasn’t going to reproduce ever, so it wasn’t like he was abandoning his Dalish ways by thinking about kissing a human. Besides it was curiosity, nothing wrong with that.  


Falon laid back down and looked around that proverbial ice barrier he built around his heart. Why did he feel ashamed? Fear he could understand. It had been far too long since Falon had had consensual sex with anyone, from his side it wasn’t at least. But Dorian made it very clear he wasn’t interested in such a relation with a slave. Which was one of his few redeeming qualities.  


Shame? Suddenly Kalor appeared in his head. Falon jumped back up to his feet. He wanted to run from the image, but it was in his mind. He was trapped by his own consciousness. He quickly looked at Dorian who watched him with wary eyes. Falon must have seemed frightened as Dorian took on that look he gave when he saw bruises and cuts on his face.  


His mouth opened to say it was nothing, but the hallway door opened and Mistress Aine waltzed in, little Adelina in her arms. Dorian walked into the front room scowling lightly.  


“What happened to always knocking before entering, Mother?” he asked in a false haughty tone.  


Aine rolled her eyes. “That’s when entering bedrooms and bathrooms, darling. I can assume you’d at least do funny business there, can’t I?” She laughed as Dorian frowned in earnest. “I tease, dear; do try to lighten up today.” She placed Adelina on the floor. The little girl twirled in her purple lace dress, obviously awaiting some form of compliment. Dorian seemed a bit occupied with arguing with his mother or glaring at her at least.  


Falon took a breath to control his heart and voice before putting his best smile on. “That is very pretty dress, da’asha.” He said over the two. They suddenly got quiet as they looked at him. The little girl giggled, twirling her black curls. She had a little matching ribbon in her ringlets. “Where you going dressed up like that, princess?” He asked he came around the couch to her.  


She giggled as she continued to twirl her dress about sheepishly, “My party.”  


Falon faked surprise as though he didn’t know. “Your party. I didn’t hear anything about a party, da’asha. Whatever could it be for?”  


She frowned. Falon had to bite back a laugh at how offended she looked. “It’s my birthday.” She stamped her foot like he should know that. Falon’s eyebrows went up and he made a silent ‘o’ with his mouth.  


“Your birthday? No, it can’t be your birthday.”  


“It is my birthday.” Falon pretended to think about it, nibbling his lower lip and nodding a bit. Then he started to frown and shake his head. “It is my birthday!” She said in frustration.  


Falon laughed. “If it is your birthday, then you’d be what? Four this year?” He smiled.  


“Noooo, I’m five.” She put her hands on her hips as she did her miniature version of Dorian’s scowl. Elgar’nan she was just too cute.  


Falon mocked disbelief. “No, you can’t be five, da’asha. You look far too young to be five.”  


“Well I am and Mama says I’m a bigger girl now.”  


“She did?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Then I guess I can’t call you da’asha anymore if you are a big girl now. If today is truly your birthday that is.” He gave her an inquisitive look and a devilish smile. The two adults tried hard to hide their amusement at the little girl whirled around.  


“It is my birthday, right Mama?” She asked.  


Aine bit her lip to not laugh at how her daughter got flustered. “It is darling.” She confirmed after controlling her urge to laugh. Dorian coughed to hide his. The elf certainly enjoyed this as he kept that wolfish grin in place as Adelina turned to him as though to say I told you so.  


“Well, I guess I’ll just have to think of something else to call you then.” He shrugged and pretended to think. Adelina seemed to take that as a good sign and dropped her scowl and waited. “Hmm, maybe…poppycock?” Adelina giggled and shook her head. “No? Well how about…horseradish?”  


“That’s not a name.” She stated.  


“It’s the name of something, da’len.” He smiled widely at her. “Well what was your name again? Abby? Madeline? Ursula?”  


“Adelina.” The child smiled and twirled. Falon furrowed his eyebrows and frowned a bit.  


“You sure? I’m pretty sure it was Ursula.” He teased.  


“Pfft, no it’s Adelina Nephine Pavus.” She stated rocking on her feet.  


“Well then, Miss Adelina Nephine Pavus,” Falon bent down and extended his hand, “I’m Falon’dir Ishmaethoriel Lavellan. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The child smiled and grabbed his hand, or part of his hand to shake.  


“Nice to meet you, Falon’dir.” Her little lisp entire butchered his name but he chuckled to himself at how adorable it was. She frowned and tried to say it again. “Falon’dir…Falon’dir.”  


“Everyone just called me Falon. Fal-own.” He clarified.  


“Fal-own.” She said slowly. She giggled when he winked at her and stood up. He looked at the adults. Aine was hiding her smile behind a daintily placed hand. Dorian had a smile and was watching him through hooded eyes. Falon felt light at seeing it again, which he froze the blasted feeling in its place and tried to shatter it. He looked back at Aine who seemed to regain her focus.  


“Well, Adelina we best start or we won’t get to your party.” She said to the child who spun to look at her. The woman smiled warmly at the girl who looked so much like her. Falon couldn’t help but smile at seeing light in the those cold gray eyes. Then they looked up at him. They kept their warmth, it matching her mulberry colored robes. “I have something for you, Falon.”  


It was odd hearing his real name amidst Tevene. But somehow he didn’t hate that. He let himself enjoy hearing it such a gentle tone. He cocked an eyebrow instead of answering as she took a step with her hand extended.  


Falon looked at it warily. Two silver pieces of metal rested in her palm. One was an ear cuff. It wasn’t like what he wore with the Aelianus’s, but a simple band with ornate designs. A ring in the middle could be used to hold a chain with a charm if one desired. The other object was a ring. It had House Pavus’s symbol upon its face with a band crafted to be like two feathers who crossed in the back.  


His stomach twisted understanding those were his collars. His hand shook as he took them. The thought of tossing them out the window came to mind. Toss them out the window then turn into a raven and fly away, back to his cold forests with low humidity. But then hunters might be sent after him and his clan would be endanger which sickened him more than the thought of putting on the ring and cuff.  


Aine must have read his face for she tried to look him in the eyes. “Oswin advised me you might have…aversion to wearing an actual collar. I hope this is a good compromise?”  


Falon’s eyes went to her’s. He was surprised she was actually asking if he liked them or not. His mind told him this was a test or a ruse or something. But she seemed genuine, caring even. He blinked, unsure of how to respond to someone who was supposed to own him, asking if he was alright about wearing something. He opened his mouth before shutting it and looking back at the jewelry.  


They weren’t ugly at least…He consoled himself thinking about that ugly heap of metal that adorned his neck. Or, even worse, the earrings he was forced to endure. The smith who made those deserved to be flogged.  


He sighed to himself. He wasn’t submitting, he told himself. “I’d rather not have to wear any collar, but I doubt that’s an option.” He muttered, his mind wrestling with itself. He was asked for an opinion. That told him he did have a say in if he wore them or not. But his gut knew he had to wear them. Or was he just accepting his position? He was a slave so he had to wear a slave marker. His head told him he was submitting nothing if he put them on. But was he?  


Aine’s tinkling laughter that joined her son’s chuckle pulled him out of his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wear something. My husband is demanding you wear a collar.” She said after sobering. Falon and Dorian simultaneously frowned. She looked at the both of them with a sigh. Adelina tugged her dress as though to say hurry up. The woman grabbed the child’s hand and squeezed. “I managed to get him to compromise for the ring instead. It’s for you as much as for him.”  


“Don’t try to make slavery sound kind, Mistress.” Falon grumbled as he took the ring in hand.  


Aine seemed like she was taken back by the comment, but she regained herself with a slight glare. “The slave marker not only identifies who owns whom, preventing abuses and possible stealings from happening, but they are also a sign of status among the slave class.” Falon furrowed his eyebrows at the last part.  


Dorian stepped in, as though trying to smooth things over as best he could. “Markers are for favored or skilled slaves. Collars are for…everyone else.” Falon looked at the two. He couldn’t decide if the marker idea was about marking their territory or about trying to protect him from possible abuses. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter.  


He was too frazzled from too many emotions stirring inside of him to fight it. So he sighed loudly, a look of defeat on his face as he slipped the ring on his left index finger. Then he clasped the cuff on his left ear, mid-way to the point. The two seemed pleased, Aine’s smile creeping back out.  


“No one can truly own a Dalish right?” She said sadly. Falon began to wonder if that was true or not. She muttered something, magic spreading over his finger. He felt the metal shrink and almost like a magnetic force wrap around his finger. He looked at it and tried to pull it off. It wouldn’t go passed his first knuckle. He pulled and pulled but it wouldn’t come off. And he never heard the spell to counteract it. He growled elven curses under his breath at the ring before letting it fall back into place.  


“It should be loose enough to wash underneath it and if not tell Dorian.” She said before leading the little girl out of the room. Falon frowned as he spun the ring around his finger. He pointed down with the finger and watched. The ring that had been loose enough to fall off, seemed to get caught upon his knuckle. He suddenly became curious about the spell. It was like an invisible barrier or magnetic field that repelled the object. Could one use the same concept but in a battle? Aside from Mind Blast, he meant. He knew that spell quite well.  


“A ring can entertain you that much?” Dorian asked sarcastically. Falon snorted to himself as he carefully let his magic leak out to touch the spell. It pulsed, feeling of electricity and ice. It pushed at everything, clinging to the ring’s surface. He found a similar feeling around his knuckle. Only this one was pulsing out of sync with the other, and felt like it was the opposite.  


“Not the ring, the spell.” Falon muttered as he withdrew his magic. Dorian’s nose twitched when he looked up at the Altus. Falon winced internally thinking his magic had leaked a bit too much. He quickly thought of something to say. “Though I am curious as to why you people love peacocks so much.” His brain had apparently noted the peacock motif on the ring.  


“Pavus Peacock.” Dorian said as though that made perfect sense. Falon just furrowed his eyebrows and gave a stupid look. Dorian sighed exasperatedly. “For the love of—Pavus means Peacock.”  


Falon blinked. “Suddenly your entire personality makes sense.” He said with a perfectly straight face. The Altus’s face became a mix of insulted, confused and amused. The combination just made Falon laugh again.  


“How does knowing my family name put my personality into perspective?” Dorian grumbled. Falon kept his wicked smile. That softened the Altus’s glare some, but it still held bite to it.  


“You know I’d never seen a peacock before Tevinter. And you know what struck me when I first saw them?”  


Dorian kept his unhappy glare. “What pray tell?”  


“Damn they are flashy!” Falon exclaimed with a chuckle. Dorian cocked an eyebrow, still hardly amused.  


“You think I’m flashy like a peacock then?” He asked drily. The elf gave him a questioning look. His eyes motioned to Dorian’s clothes before looking him in the eyes. That made the Altus look down at himself and narrow his eyes at the elf more.  


“Peacock, if your outfit and personality were anymore flashy, you’d blind people.” The elf gave a wide grin and batted those ungodly eyelashes at him. Dorian dropped the glare, unsure if the elf just flirted with him or not. The elf didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You know what else I’ve noticed about your birds?”  


Dorian shook his head warily. “I’m not a mind reader.”  


“When peacocks want to impress or are frightened or angry, they splay their feathers, puff themselves up, and strut like they are bigger and badder than they really are.” Dorian blinked like he’d been dunked in ice cold water.  


“Are you suggesting that I peacock?”  


“I’m not suggesting anything. You peacock, Peacock.” Dorian’s brain tried hard to think of something, but the amusement in the elf’s eyes seemed to drown every coherent thought he had.  


“I don’t peacock.” He said instead.  


“You’re doing it right now, Peacock.” The elf noted Dorian’s defensive posture, one of a straighter spine and head held higher. Dorian blinked as though he didn’t realize he had done so.  


“Stop calling me Peacock.” He growled. The elf laughed. Dorian tried hard to not drop his bad mood.  


“Why? You said Pavus meant Peacock. I’m not calling you anything but your namesake.”  


“By that logic I should call you by whatever your name means.” Dorian blinked. “What does your name mean anyway?  


“Who said it had to mean anything?” Falon challenged.  


“Does it mean anything?”  


“Lavellan, I have no clue. Falon’dir means Friend of Secrets more or less.” Falon smiled largely at the odd look that came over Dorian’s face. It was concern mixed with surprise.  


“Which part means what?”  


“Falon means friend. So if you want to try to teach me a lesson by calling me Friend, go ahead, Peacock.”  


Dorian furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his temples. “At least I’ve graduated from shemlen.” Dorian sighed in defeat. Stubborn as a mountain, charming as a snake, pretty like a poisonous flower, and witty as a bard. Maker’s breath, Dorian was conflicted.  


“That’s one way of looking at it.” Falon shrugged as Dorian walked passed him towards the door. “By the way, why are you dressed so fancy? The party was tonight, I thought.” He walked alongside the Altus, feeling happy as he has been in ages. It was nice to feel like dancing on the clouds. Almost as good as feeling like bounding through the forest as a Hart or flying far above the clouds at dusk.  


“This isn’t fancy.” Dorian rose an eyebrow at the elf beside him. “This is nice. Tonight you’ll see fancy.” Falon noted the bitterness that seemed to emanate from the man beside him. He bit his lip. The blasted Keeper instinct rose up. Falon fought with himself about asking what was wrong. The slave part of him told him to keep quite. Masters didn’t need help from slaves.  


His chest knotted as he thought. Carefully he knocked shoulders with Dorian, keeping his eyes forward. Damn my head, he thought. His father always told him to listen to his heart and he’d never regret his actions.  


“You really should cheer up, Dorian.” He told him. The Altus snorted.  


“Is there any real reason to?” Falon thought for a moment. He felt safe with Dorian, safe enough to divulge something he never told anyone.  


“You don’t have it that bad.” He started. His nerves shook horribly. His mind yelled loudly about revealing such things. It was opening the wounds again and possibly rubbing salt in them. So he resolved to say a bit, something vague. Elves were good at vague. “You could have been sold into slavery by someone you loved. Or one of those Saarebas. Or you could come into contact with a piece of your history that sickens you and kills your lover, taking everything you knew from you and shoving you into a world you were taught to despise.” The words just spilt out. Falon’s voice quivered a tad as he spoke, remembering a bad memory.  


Dorian stopped and looked at him. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft. “I suppose so. But whatever are we going to do before the party?” Dorian cracked a haft smile. Falon knew it wasn’t genuine but he’d take it, or anything that wasn’t depressing.  


*****  


Falon ended up being told to help the party preparations by Magister Halward who had just returned from the Magisterium trial. The man looked terrible in Falon’s opinion. And Dorian wasn’t too happy to be in his father’s presence. He told his father that he had no right to order Falon about as he was Dorian’s guard.  


A part of Falon was curious about what was going on between the two. He guessed, having had gone through something similar with his mother when he told her he was gay. But Falon had Cyril, Deyrion, and Valyne beside him. His older siblings stood behind him as their mother went into a tizzy of denial. His father just stood there quietly. He knew his parents loved him. Just as he knew Dorian’s parents did too…somewhere inside their lizardy hearts…  


Another part of Falon bristled at Dorian claiming him. On the other hand, he felt all warm at the gesture. Not because Dorian was claiming ownership, the Creators knew he’d sooner strangle the man than allow that to happen. But because Dorian was preventing someone from using the elf. Whether it was because the peacock had a heart or it was out of personal spite towards his father was the next question on Falon’s mind.  


In the end though, Dorian won the argument. Not that that meant much for Falon. They still ended up in the grand ballroom place that was being polished and arranged for the party. Dorian was even more melancholy than before as he asked Falon to help move things about. Falon glared but did it anyway.  


Falon wasn’t much help anyway. All the slaves knew where everything had to go, he did not. So he ended up helping set up a raised platform that the ‘band’ was to sit on. At least that’s what he thought it was for. Several instruments were near it and he was told to place music stands on it. But who knew with Tevinters? His first master had grated flooring in his ballroom disguised to look like tacky jewel inlayed marble. So the music stands could be used for some sort of blood ritual. Falon wouldn’t be surprised if they were.  


“So which do you play?” Dorian’s voice came from behind him. Falon jumped and looked. He was moving the instruments onto the platform to their seats. Dorian had disappeared for a bit, returning smelling a bit like alcohol.  


“Are you drinking already?” Falon frowned at him. Falon had never gotten drunk…or really drank alcohol. And watching Dorian get drunk and having to smell him made Falon not want to. There were nights that the idiot got so drunk Falon had to escort him back, and the poor sod didn’t even remember it. Oh yes, Falon shadowed the dumb Altus when he ‘snuck’ out. Mostly it was a reason not to go back to his quarters till everyone else was asleep.  


Dorian glared at him. “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?” He hissed. Falon kept a blank face, his heart speeding up. His mind went back to its old habit of fear. He could almost hear Kalor’s voice saying the exact same thing. Falon waited, his body trembling only slightly. He half expected to be thrown against the wall again if he answered.  
Then Dorian furrowed his eyebrows like that wasn’t the reaction he had expected. He let out a loud sigh. “That was unworthy, I apologize.”  


Falon looked back at the instruments. “That one.” His voice quivered as he pointed to the small stringed instrument laying on the far right seat. He then continued to place the instruments.  


“The violin?”  


“Sure. My first master forced me to learn how to play it.” Falon said bitterly as he kept his back to Dorian. He took a steadying breath. “He and my husband didn’t like the harp, you see.”  


“You…” Dorian paused as Falon glanced back with the iciest glare he could manage. Don’t ask me about him, Falon tried to tell him with his eyes. The Altus closed his mouth and thought for a moment. “You can play the harp too?” He settled on. Falon relaxed a bit.  


“Yes.” He said bluntly as he turned back around. “Is that surprising, Peacock?” He didn’t see it but Dorian softened a little hearing that name again. Assuring himself that that morning wasn’t a dream.  


“I didn’t think wanderers of the land would care for something like a harp. Or an instrument for that matter.” Falon looked at him from the corner of his eyes.  


“What are we? Savages?” Falon joked, not like he did before. This was melancholy, bitter joking.  


“Well…” Dorian tried. The elf just snorted, turning to him completely. Falon noted the odds looks he was getting from other slaves. Some glared when they noticed him looking at them. He winced, focusing back on Dorian. “I just thought you’d be more concerned with food and whatnot.”  


“Believe it or not, Peacock, we Dalish have songs. Many of us know how to play instruments. My brother Deyrion plays drums. My Grandfather can play the lute. My Father plays the flute while my Grandmother plays the harp. And there are others in the clan that know how to play these and others. Our voices are the main instrument to any song though.”  


“You learned to play from your grandmother?”  


“Yes.” Falon smiled sadly. “I had a harp made by my Grandfather when I turned fifteen.”  


“Someday you’ll have to dazzle me with your musical prowess.”  


Falon’s face became stone again. “No.” He said bluntly. Music had been a time of peace, a time he could be truly alone with his thoughts. He played when he was sad or angry or happy, just to get the emotion out. Music was just like magic for Falon. It was a part of him, an expression of his soul. Until he came to Tevinter. He learned to loathe things he loved dearly.  


He glanced at the violin. It seemed be a twisted thing, a poison. His eyes became bleak remembering playing the thing in the library. Being lashed because the one note was off. Or having his hands burnt in the fire for no other reason than the master didn’t like the song. Then there was Kalor. But Falon looked away shutting those away again.  


“I would prefer not to play ever again, if you don’t mind.” Falon amended. Dorian looked at him curiously before nodding.  


“I can respect that.”  


Falon gave him a soft smile. “Ma serannas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if many people are going to get my subtle hints here, sometimes I'm clear as mud and blood. I'm cruel I know (if you got the hint) and I'm sorry (if you didn't).  
> Thanks for reading. Next chapter has some action in it...which I'm terrible at so it's not really a bonus (-.-')


	6. Wrong Elvhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon lets it slip he's a mage and there's some fighting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence and cursing so be warned.  
> Also some corny conversations...Sorry about that.

Later that night, after the party that was solely for Adelina and after she had being taken to her room, the party for the adults began. Dorian was right about one thing: what he was wearing before wasn’t fancy. He looked dashing still, but it was obvious what he wore before was just a nicer version of his robes. The black and red suit he wore now was…Falon found himself staring more than he should with a funny feeling in his stomach. 

Falon kept himself scarce, watching from the shadows. He had learned that magisters liked to get grabby when they were drunk. And seeing as the rumor was he was Dorian’s sex slave more or less, he didn’t want to think of what would happen. Falon was pretty sure he’d eventually snap and devour their throats. 

The thought put a half smile on his face as he watched Dorian dance with some woman. The two looked nice together, until you looked at their faces. It was clear neither wanted to be there. Falon tilted his head trying to figure out who the woman was exactly. 

“Having fun, Lavellan?” Felix interrupted. Falon looked at him with a snort. 

“Of course; I always enjoy seeing my master unhappy.” Falon said sarcastically. He was advised by Evea and Oswin to be sure and call Dorian ‘master’ when in these large crowds. It wasn’t something Falon liked obeying, but…Falon found he’d rather call the Altus master than any other of the others. Falon passed it off, pretending to not have the familiar feeling coming back to life after five years of being dead inside. 

Felix laughed as he looked at Dorian. “Ah, he’s dancing with Livia, that’s why.” Felix sipped his glass. 

“Livia?” Falon looked at him puzzled. Felix seemed surprised he didn’t know her. 

“She and Dorian have an arranged marriage…as soon as Dorian agrees, which he won’t.” Felix muttered the last part. Falon looked at Dorian who finally got to bow out to fetch a drink. He almost pitied the man. Almost. 

“Judging from the way she glares, I’d say the hatred is mutual.” Falon observed causing Felix to chuckle. 

“I doubt many people like the idea of arranged marriages.” 

“You seem okay with it.” 

Felix smiled. “I can get along with anyone, Lavellan.” Falon snorted in agreement. 

“You there! Slave!” Both Felix and Falon flinched at the word as they looked at the woman calling to Falon. He frowned towards her. “Bring us another glass of wine.” She demanded with a dismissing wave of her hand. She barely glanced towards him to see if he had jumped to obey her command. When she saw he didn’t, she opened her mouth. 

Falon cut her off, “Tel’abelas, mistress, but I’m a guard not a servant.” He smiled sweetly. He enjoyed the look of confused fury that came over her face at the not-apology. “Now if you excuse me, I have to find the man I’m supposed to guard. Master Felix.” Falon bowed slightly, trying his damnedest to act as much like a slave as he could without forfeiting himself in the process. Without listening to her reply, Falon walked away to find Dorian. 

He found him a few minutes later having a heated discussion with his parents in the shadows where no one paid any notice. He hung back, far enough not to be noticed but also far enough to only hear murmuring. As far as he could tell, Mistress Aine was trying to mediate what might be an all out brawl between the magister and his son. He caught Livia’s name as well as a few curse words being thrown about…Not together necessarily. 

Then Dorian turned and stalked away almost. Halward gripped the bridge of his nose as Aine shook her head and rolled her eyes. Falon thought his family talks were bad. Dorian seemed to always be arguing…which might be partly Dorian’s doing. He was rather hot-headed and proud. And nothing good ever came from trying to please someone who was so opposed to your very nature. 

Cautiously Falon stepped closer. He didn’t want to go to the magister. He had little trust for the man. The most interaction he had with the man was in the infirmary. Since then, Halward pretended Falon didn’t exist. Not that he was complaining. Aine was nice enough when not around Halward. Falon was pretty sure she was covering any perceived weakness in his presence. Which didn’t paint a pretty picture of the magister if his wife acted around him. Of course Falon didn’t understand human society let alone Tevinter society. 

Aine noticed Falon lurking as he tried to decide what to do. He had learned that people who thought they owned you when they got angry, even when they weren’t angry at you, they’d take it out on any slave unfortunate to be near them. That thought twisted his insides as he bit his lip. His brain thought of every reason under the sun as to why he shouldn’t go to any of them. 

He didn’t know any of them very well. He certainly wasn’t friends with Dorian. He didn’t think so any way. Despite finding his thoughts drifting while in the man’s presence. Another reason why he shouldn’t. Falon’s head got twisted up; sometimes the young, naïve boy of seventeen crept back, thoughts ruled by hormones and heart stupidly pure. Then the twenty-eight year old slave started to strangle the boy, shoving every insult, every blow, and every lash into the other’s face. 

It made Falon uneasy, unsure of what to do. He was afraid of letting anyone close again. Let alone allowing a shemlen close to him. Close enough to strangle…to kiss…to stab…to hold. 

Which brought Falon to another reason. He wasn’t sure he could handle Dorian or Halward hitting him. He might break and become another mindless slave, beaten. Or he might snap and harm one of them. Falon liked living; Tevinter slavery wasn’t his ideal choice of life, but he liked breathing. 

All these thoughts raced through his mind and more as Aine approached him. She was visibly upset though no tears were shed. She kept her back rigid, her face set in stone. Falon noted she had many jewels on her, even a headdress, and had changed into an extravagant dress of black satins and silks. 

“Falon,” Her voice quivered. Falon eyed her suspiciously, bracing to run if he had to. His heart sped up like a trapped animal. She cleared her throat, “Falon. I’d appreciate it if you’d…watch my son.” Falon’s mind stopped for a second as he gave her a confused look. 

“Watch your…You realize he is a grown man right?” He tried to quirk a smile, but her dead face made him feel numb inside. 

“Just keep him from drinking himself to death or anything else equally stupid and foolhardy.” She gave a tired smile. Falon didn’t have a heart to do anything save for nod once and set off in the direction Dorian had gone. 

“I can do that.” He said as he passed her. He paused and looked at her rigid spine. He looked then to Halward who met his eyes with a suspicious glare. Falon kept his gaze steady till the magister looked away. “You’d best get back before someone notices the host is gone.” Falon advised quietly before slipping away. 

***** 

Falon figured there would be only a few places the Altus would have gone in a tizzy: the front room, the library, or his rooms. The front room was occupied with people, so it wasn’t a good place to sulk. He passed the library doors and found no one inside. So that left his rooms. 

Falon took a deep breath as he heard something smack against the wall. He debated about opening the door or not. Fury was practically oozing out of the cracks of the door. Fury and slaves never went well. Then his brain, the small innocent part that clung desperately to life, flickered. Dorian had never actually hit or punished him in any way. 

That thought calmed his own nerves and pushed him to open the door. He ducked immediately, narrowly missing getting a book to the face. 

“Vasta fass, haven’t you heard of knocking, Lavellan?!” The mage hissed, just as panicked as he was furious. 

“Dalish don’t have doors to knock.” Falon joked with a crooked smile. Dorian rolled his eyes and went back to pacing. Falon had once seen a large cat, one from the jungles of Seheron, caged. The poor thing paced the length of its cage over and over again, looking at those outside the bars. The look in its eyes was of pure murder, as though it were trying to say come closer, open these bars and I’ll show you true fury. 

Dorian reminded him of that cat. 

Falon rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that built. His heart pounded as he stepped into the room, cautiously. His body coiled to run, his hands gripping the door handle tightly as he closed it. He didn’t want to trap himself in there. It felt wrong; his stomach twisted and all he could feel was pure adrenaline. 

“Leave.” Dorian barked, gesturing a harsh dismal with his hand. Stubbornness sparked in Falon. His mind told him to run. His heart told him to fight. He gathered the adrenaline, coiling it into his heart and letting it harden. He set his jaw firmly and took a step closer. He had learned many times to never show fear around an animal. Especially a trapped animal. 

“Dalish also don’t take orders from shems, Peacock.” Falon growled back. He stepped into Dorian’s path, holding his head high in defiance. He caught the angry glint in Dorian’s eyes as he glared at him. Falon walked into Dorian’s personal space. He had spent a long time watching animals and knew a few things from that time. 

Animals will always lash out when they feel threatened or challenged. If tension has built up, it will always explode into a fight. When they are hurt, the animal will pretend otherwise and fight twice as hard. 

Falon knew Dorian was hurt by something or other, he knew he was angry. The way he saw it he had two options: leave the man alone in his anguish to possibly do something really stupid and leave the fury to be pent up again till exploded with possible deadly consequences. Or Falon could force that release. His mind screamed at the bad idea; he didn’t know if Dorian would use his magic or not. At best, Falon got lashed and burnt. At worst, Falon would be killed. 

A calmness fell over him at that thought. He had no fear of dying and if he died as a consequence of this, he didn’t mind. He’d be free at least. Falon’s heart kept the adrenaline going, but his mind became clear. He took a step closer to the Altus who backed up. Falon dared the man with his eyes. For a moment, Dorian seemed frightened as he was being backed to the wall. 

“I said leave, Falon.” Dorian growled. Falon felt the smack of Mind Blast against his mind. His own magic flared under his skin before he shoved it down. They didn’t need two angry mages here. He grit his teeth, pulling from his magic a sense of defensive fury. Some people didn’t realize that magic, a mage’s mana was fueled by emotions. It was emotion in its purest sense. The trick was controlling it enough to craft it into different forms and not allow your emotions give it more power than you could control. 

Falon, within the time it took Dorian to breathe one breath, wrapped his arms around the mage and took him to the ground. He was careful to not let him hit his head…too hard. A good smack was helpful. The look on Dorian’s face was pure shock and then it hardened into fury as Falon held him down. 

“Try that again shem, see what good it does you.” Falon challenged. Dorian didn’t try it again, instead he threw a punch which Falon easily blocked. Then it turned into a full on brawl. They rolled about on the floor, each trying to gain better leverage. Falon never threw any blows, opting to just try to pin the mage to the ground and not get hit too much. He was sure if he got hit enough, his mind would snap and possibly kill Dorian. 

Dorian however, was blinded by rage and possibly the thought that this elf was trying to kill him. He landed a few blows and managed to form an ice spell that struck Falon in the shoulder. Falon’s brain was too occupied with the fight to pay heed to the ice growing on him. When the spell did little to get him off, Dorian shocked him. 

That stopped Falon. His heart sped quicker, his body convulsing as he fought to stay upright. Then Dorian stopped as the elf sat back. Twitches roamed around Falon’s body. He bit back any noise he might make as he looked at Dorian. A sad smile stretched across his features, but what had gotten to the Altus were his eyes. They weren’t filled with murder or any hint that Lavellan was trying to harm anyone. Instead they were concerned, perhaps disappointed and hurt, but they were calm. 

“Feel better?” The elf asked, as he rolled his shoulders. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows watching the elf move his jaw gingerly. 

“No.” Dorian growled honestly. He was more confused. He was angry at his parents, at himself for actually doing what any other magister would have done. He hadn’t killed the elf, probably barely wounded him. And Lavellan had attacked him first. Then Dorian’s mind reminded him he had struck out at the elf first. 

Falon smirked and leaned down over Dorian. He felt the human’s heart stop and for a moment Falon felt like he had in the forest a long time ago. Free, happy. He felt the man’s body heat, could feel him breathe underneath him. Falon looked him straight in the eyes, resisting the stupid part of him once more that wanted to kiss him. 

“See? Violence is never the answer. But at least I was the one who got the brunt of your anger.” Falon teased as he sat straight up again. He rubbed his shoulder. His body shook a bit, coming down from an adrenaline high. His shoulder burned from the cold and was stiff as he tried to move it. Blood invaded his taste buds from his split lip. “You have a nasty right hook, Peacock.” He commented drily. 

Dorian blew out a loud breath as he ran a hand through his hair. Falon was pretty sure he was trying to come down as well. “What the hell were you thinking?” Dorian hissed, though all the venom was gone. 

“I thought hey, you look tense! Let’s brawl.” Falon joked as he got off the Altus. He offered a hand to him. He knew there might be some consequences to his actions later, but all that mattered was Dorian got to work through some of his aggression. Dorian snorted as he batted the elf’s hand away and stood up by himself. He winced, touching his head gingerly. 

Then Dorian glared at him. “Kaffas.” He muttered, looking away. Falon waited, seeing anger and something else in his eyes. Which, Falon noted, were quite fetching. Not as pretty as an elf’s, he amended, but still fetching for a human. When Dorian met his eyes again, the mage reached up and wiped blood away from the elf’s chin. “I didn’t mean…” Dorian sighed to himself. “I am sorry.” He spat. 

“No you’re not.” Falon chuckled. “You probably wanted to hit me since we met.” 

Dorian gave a half-chuckle, rubbing the back of his head again. “You do realize I could have you quartered for this, yes?” 

Falon kept his smile on his face. “I don’t care.” Dorian stared at him for a moment before walking passed him to right something on his desk. “My father and brother would often do this to me. Provoke me so I’d fight them. Told me I was too passive aggressive and that holding in my rage would only guarantee someone getting hurt. This way it wasn’t someone random.” 

Falon talked as he walked to Dorian’s side. He bumped his shoulder with the human’s, his voice soft. “You are too passive aggressive, Dorian.” 

“And you know exactly what I’m going through, yes?” Dorian snapped. Falon forced himself not to shrink from the harsh tone. Instead he kept a neutral face as Dorian seemed to find fault in his words. “That was unworthy, I apologize.” 

“I may not know exactly what this is all about, but believe it or not, I too had to fess up to my parents. And I had to decide if I was willing to keep denying myself a life I wanted to live just so they’d be happy.” The Altus walked back towards his bedroom. Falon turned and leaned against the desk. Dorian’s back was rigid as he opened the doors to his sleeping room. He was oddly quiet. 

“Leave me, Falon.” Dorian said over his shoulder. 

Falon gave a smile, “I’ll go make you some tea.” He heard Dorian sigh loudly as though frustrated with the elf’s inability to take an order. “Real tea.” Falon pushed away from the desk and headed for the door. He hoped the human would get his thoughts together by the time he came back. Right now it was like talking to a wall. A wall that could kill him at any moment but still a wall. 

“Very well, stubborn elf.” He heard Dorian growl as he exited. Falon gave a chuckle as he shut the door and began to walk to the kitchens. The party was dying down, still Falon kept to the servant passages to reach the kitchens. The slaves were making a toast to themselves, about making it through another party without the whole house burning down. Evea caught his eye and she rose her glass towards him. 

“Congrats on surviving your first Pavus ball, Dalish.” She called, drawing everyone’s attention to him. He winced, having to step towards the group. Everyone smiled and gave a small chuckle at his apparently doe-eyed look. “Care for some wine? Mistress Aine told us to enjoy ourselves a little before we get the house cleaned up.” 

Falon never had been one for drinking. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll have to decline. Dor—Master Dorian,” He amended at some of the older slaves giving him a wary look, “requested some tea. Where do you store such things?” he asked politely looking at the cupboards upon cupboards. Evea laughed. 

“You handle domestic duties too?” Someone quipped. Falon bit his tongue, ignoring the banter. “Thought you only handled personal matters?” 

“Maybe Dalish use tea in a different way?” 

“How? To oil themselves?” 

“I’d like to see that.” 

“Do Tevinters like blood in their tea?” Falon growled low in his throat as more sexual innuendos came spewing forward. His magic strained against his restraint. A little zap wouldn’t do too much harm…He quickly reined himself in and began to rummage through the cabinets. 

“What was that Dalish?” One of the debaters said. It was threatening, almost enough to make Falon wish he hadn’t spoken. But his stubbornness flared. He knew the man, had the displeasure of walking passed him when he was drunk and ended up being undressed. A part of Falon wanted break away from at least that ghost. To show to himself he could be strong and stand up for himself. So Falon clenched his jaw and turned to the other elf. 

“I asked if the masters take blood in their tea. If they do, I would happily slit your throat right now.” Of them, he was the only one that was armed. The man glanced down at the dagger that Falon had begun to reach for. Falon kept his face even, finding that long buried Keeper that could stand up to shemlen and talk them out of attacking or scare them enough to flee. Falon felt a surge of power, like a chain had been snapped from his heart. 

The debaters looked at each other, not sure if he was joking or serious. “Fucking barbaric knife-ear.” One muttered. Falon frowned. 

“Yes, I’m a barbarian.” Falon couldn’t help but bark at them. He had kept quiet too long, suffered too many such comments in silence. Perhaps he got on a power trip. Perhaps he truly didn’t care about punishment anymore. They could fuck his body all they want, but he’d never give them power. “I who know thirty-five different ways to make tea, who can play both the violin and harp. I who can read, write, or speak in three different languages, am a barbarian.” 

The ones not engaging in verbal war with him, looked back and forth between him and the other. Tension was practically visible in the air as Falon held his head high. “I may be a knife ear, but at least I haven’t been neutered by the shemlens, flat-ear.” He spat before turning back around to search for the tea. 

He heard the man try to get to him, shouting obscenities as others held him back. Falon’s mind thought about freezing him, just to show how little power the man held over him, but thought better of it as Evea shouted to the others to get him out of there. 

“That was rather uncalled for, Dalish.” Evea noted with a sigh as she threw back the rest of her wine. Falon looked back at her with a glare. 

“You try being forced to bed with that man and see how you react.” Falon hissed as he pulled out a kettle and a tray. He quickly found some cups, matching cream and sugar containers and a teapot. He didn’t give a rat ass if they all matched or not. 

Evea was quiet for a moment. She just stared at him, like she hadn’t realized what Falon had to do in the time he spent here. He nearly barked at her about he didn’t want her pity, but she spoke up. “You could’ve waited until I finished my wine at least.” Her voice was quiet. When he looked back at her she gave a quirky smile. 

Falon snorted and looked around the now empty kitchen. “I’m going to be lashed aren’t I?” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Evea laughed loudly. “For a second there it sounded like you actually cared about the rules Dalish.” Falon grinned. Evea looked at his collection of tea things and shook her head. “You will be lashed if you bring mix-matched cups to Master Dorian.” She waved him aside and began to pull a matching tea set and set them upon the tray. “Do you really know thirty-five ways to make tea or you just bluffin’?” She asked warily. 

“Da’len, there are only two ways to make tea: the right way and the wrong way.” He joked. “I do know thirty-five different poisons that don’t have a smell though.” Evea furrowed her eyebrows at him as he smiled. 

“And Master Dorian is allowing you to make him tea?” 

“He’s drunk, I think.” Falon found the tea leaves and a collection of herbs. Thankfully these hadn’t been dried yet. He also found some fruit as Evea put some sweet breads on the tray. 

She watched him as he put water into the kettle and the kettle over the fire. He rose an eyebrow as he put a few spoon-fulls of tealeaves into the teapot. As he reached for the elfroot (to help with both their sore faces and headaches) she spoke up, “If you’re adding herbs to the tea, we got some of their extracts over here.” 

Falon turned to her with a look of horror. Did they truly have to use extracts in everything? “That’s the wrong way of making tea. Elfroot _juice_ ,” He chastised, “is not the same as elfroot. You don’t use plant juice in a healing potion, so why would tea be any different?” He sounded offended by the notion of placing juice in his tea. 

“Elfroot juice has a better flavor.” Evea laughed as the Dalish wrinkled his nose. 

“That’s because it’s made into a syrup with lots of sugar. I’m trying to calm the man, not overdose him with sweetness. Besides elfroot tastes fine if you know how to compliment it.” Falon snorted as he began to measure and cut. 

“You look terrible, by the way.” She added, watching him as he added the elfroot to the tealeaves. He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at her but remained silent. His eyes flashed in the dim light of the cooking fire. “You get punched in the lip?” She asked, turning his head towards her. Falon licked the scab absently; it hurt and felt like it was swollen but compared to his shoulder it was fine. 

“You could say that.” He muttered as she rolled her eyes. 

“You just make friends everywhere don’t you?” She muttered as she cast her spell. Falon shivered at the cold, almost unnatural feeling that spread over his lip and his arm. It was so different from the ones he knew. This was closed and forceful, clumsy even. When it ended, it felt like Falon had a snake crawling over him, or his skin was being suffocated with moss or something. He shivered to himself and went back to his work. 

Evea chatted quietly as she helped. She filled the sugar bowl and replaced the cream with a bottle of whiskey. Falon wrinkled his nose. “He does not need more alcohol.” He complained. 

She laughed, “Master Dorian always needs more alcohol. Or he thinks so at least.” Falon frowned at his apparent dependency on the substance. He took the bottle off the tray. “I was told to keep him from doing something stupid. That includes getting shit-face drunk.” He growled as she grabbed the whistling kettle. She had apparently cast an ice spell over her hand for she didn’t use a cloth as she poured the steaming water into the cups and the pot. She refilled it and put it back on. 

She smiled and sniffed the now aromatic air. “Your tea smells…” She commented absently. Falon furrowed his eyebrows at the comment. It was tea. How could it not smell? “I mean it smells good and all but that’s a really strong tea smell…” 

Falon chuckled drily. He remembered learning how to brew tea. He remembered his ritual of waking up and making tea, and making tea before bed. He made tea so much, not only for himself but for others too, he almost constantly smelt like the stuff. His friend Lerian deemed him the Tea Keeper one time. 

“That’s how you know it was done right, flat-ear.” He said the last word gently. She snorted and waved him away. 

“Go tend to your drunken shem, Dalish.” She muttered as he disappeared into the servant well that lead upstairs. Her stomach knotted as she watched his back. Something was wrong with him. Something was off. She felt it flare as he had argued with Mathan, only to have it quelled quickly. She tried to dismiss it the first time it had happened in the infirmary, but she couldn’t ignore it. Evea decided to go to her mistress with her concerns that Lavellan was indeed a mage. One very adept at hiding his gifts. 

***** 

Falon entered the rooms silently. He took careful note of the eerie silence that filled the apartments. The fire was dying in the front room, the balcony doors shut and the drapes drawn. There was a thin sliver of candlelight from underneath the bedroom doors. Falon wasn’t sure if he wanted to go in there…There might be a blood orgy going on. 

Quietly he crept to the door and pressed an ear to the oak. Footsteps pacing blindly was all he heard. Letting out a breath, Falon balanced the tray on his hip to open the door. Dorian paused in his steps to look at him. 

“And here I hoped you had forgotten about me.” Dorian quipped as Falon entered. The elf snorted in reply, crossing the rather small quarters to the bed. Perhaps the room felt so small because the bed was so large. It took up much of the room. There was a window seat tucked on the right side, overlooking the same view as the balcony. There was a dresser against the opposite wall, with a full-length mirror next to it. A small door was on either side of the bed, one most likely lead to the bathroom, the other perhaps a closet. Upon a nightstand beside the bed was the only source of light: a candle. Still Falon’s elven eyes were able to see the room easily. 

“No one could forget you, Peacock, no matter how hard they tried.” Falon mumbled as he sat the tray upon the chest at the end of the bed. Dorian rolled his eyes as he sat upon his bed. Falon watched him a moment. He wondered who needed that many pillows on one bed. But then he remembered nobles loved to have things in excess as a display. Or Dorian just really liked to have a comfy bed… 

“You underestimate the powers of alcohol,” Dorian scoffed. Then he rose an eyebrow, following Falon’s gaze to his bed. “Do you find something interesting with my bed?” 

Falon blinked, fighting to keep a blush off his face as he looked down at the tray. “Just wondering why you need so many pillows…” He mumbled as he put a strainer over one of the cups and poured the now dark tea into it. The herbal smell of tea mixed with the fruit he was told was called mango. It settled his mind. “You want sugar?” 

Dorian snorted, “Brandy would be better.” 

Falon rolled his eyes as he dumped a spoon of sugar into the cup and stirred. “I’m not supporting your dependency on alcohol, Peacock.” He handed the man his cup with a look of disapproval. Falon felt tired looking at the bed. His bones felt weak and heavy. His eyelids wanted to fall shut on him. 

Dorian didn’t look any better than how Falon felt. Perhaps the alcohol was wearing him down or was wearing off. But he looked haggard, ill, and not the least bit happy. Falon watched him sniff the tea as though wondering why it smelt so strongly. 

“I’m not dependent.” He whined before taking a tentative sip. “I assume there’s no poison in this?” 

Falon snorted in reply. He poured himself a cup, adding two spoons of sugar just because he could, and sat down beside the man on the bed. “I was supervised the whole time. Besides I want to drink it too.” Dorian waited for Falon to take a sip before he actually drank. 

The Tevinter frowned into the cup as he rolled the flavor around in his mouth. Falon almost laughed. The way his mouth moved beneath that moustache reminded Falon of someone tasting wine. 

“So is Dalish tea any better than Tevinter tea?” He asked as he sipped his. He had added small slices of mango, like he would mint. He was amazed on how sweet the mango made it. He could taste the earthy bitterness of the tealeaves, but it blended nicely with the fruit, in his humble opinion. 

“It’s…not as bad as I thought.” Dorian gave. Falon snorted, pretending to be offended. 

“You wound me, dear ser!” He mocked. He got a weak chuckle. “I was going to do the traditional Dalish blood rite, but Evea sent my sacrifice away.” Falon sighed sadly. The other choked a bit on his tea and had to wipe some off his chin as he turned to look at the elf. 

“I would hope so! Bloodstains are so hard to get off wood.” Dorian rolled his eyes. Falon would take it. At least he was being sarcastic again. It was better than being a wall. “But why did you not bring brandy or whiskey with you instead?” Falon chuckled at the whining tone. 

“Because alcohol is only able to make you forget your problems for so long.” 

“Depends on how much you drink.” Dorian replied, setting his cup on the nightstand. 

“It doesn’t take away your problems, Peacock. Besides, I’m getting tired of having to cart your drunk ass through Minrathous at ungodly hours.” 

Dorian stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. Slowly he looked at the elf. Falon saw in those gray eyes many thoughts churning about the weariness. “Carting…me?” He asked as though Falon had spoken ancient elven. 

Falon smirked and looked him straight in the face. “How else do you think you managed to get back home after tavern hopping?” Dorian obviously didn’t recall the elf practically dragging his corpse back to the Pavus mansion in the wee hours of morning just so he wouldn’t wake up in some odd man’s bed. “I don’t expect you to remember; you were pretty drunk.” 

Dorian opened his mouth, but shut it again. Falon could sense the man wanted to say thank you, but something about his personality forbade it coming out easily. Falon contemplated his tea, waiting for the Altus to figure it out. 

“I—uh. Thank you, Falon.” Dorian finally spat out. The elf smiled maddingly in the dim light as he drank the rest of his tea. 

“You can make it up to me by telling me what all this is about.” Falon said once all the tea was drained into his stomach. He felt Dorian’s glare on his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Falon looked straight ahead at the paintings above the dresser. One was of some beach Falon thought couldn’t exist. The silence spread for several minutes. It made Falon’s head hurt listening to it really. Like the tension built pressure inside the lack of noise. 

Then Dorian sighed. “I prefer the company of men. My parents disapprove.” Falon nodded silently, letting the man vent if he needed to. “I don’t want to put on a show, marry that…dreadful woman and be just like them. Maker forbid what I want actually crossed their minds when they planned this all out.” 

“Some people would think they were trying to give you the best life they could.” Falon said quietly. That made Dorian get to his feet and glare at the elf. 

“They only care about their idyllic plan.” He growled. Falon kept his face neutral. Dorian began to pace again in his nightclothes. Falon tried hard not to note the mage’s physique, but Creators that was hard. He bit his lip, trying to focus. “All they want is a son who would become the Archon, marry the girl, be their perfect little puppet. And they got me.” 

Falon heard the tone of despair in the Altus’s voice. He had it once before, when he figured out he was homosexual as well. He felt broken, like there was something wrong with him. Cyril had came then, told him the Creators made him exactly like he was for a reason. He was just how he was intended to be. He was perfect, every gay bit of him was perfect and crafted divinely. 

Falon waited for Dorian to stop his rant before he spoke. “You know, my mother was like that. Well my whole clan was like that. Not the Archon bit, but close enough.” Dorian’s glare told him that one of his word lashes was coming so he hurried on. “Dalish don’t mind homosexuality, but I’m a bit of an exception…” Falon’s mind swirled as he tried to think of a reason that didn’t involve him being a mage. “Magic…runs strongly in my bloodline and my clan isn’t very gifted with magic. We only had our Keeper and…our First. So I was expected to bond with a woman, in hopes of producing a mage child. Instead, I chose to bond with a man…which technically my elders agreed to allow, but they weren’t happy about it.” 

“Dalish hold magic in that high of regard?” Dorian asked, anger still in his voice. 

“Our mages are Keepers. They guide and protect us, they keep the ancient lore alive. They are the only ones that know the Old Magics, or what Old Magics we have found anyway. Without a Keeper, we would be lost.” Falon shrugged slightly. “It is said that elven mages have the strongest bloodlines of the ancestors.” 

Dorian looked around a bit, as though realizing he was pouring his heart out to a slave. Falon smiled reassuringly. 

“In my humble opinion, Dorian,” Falon paused to let the name roll over his tongue. It felt nice to speak it, like a dash of cinnamon in otherwise bland bread. “Stop caring what your parents think. They love you, somehow…if they do indeed have hearts…” He stopped to let Dorian chuckle. “Get away from them. You’re a grown man, you can leave, make your own life somewhere. And who knows? They might learn a lesson.” Falon shrugged. 

“My parents learn a lesson?” Dorian scoffed. 

“I’ve learned one thing about shemlen in my time in your forsaken country” Falon smirked at the glare he earned. “Humans don’t know what they had until they lose it.” 

Silence spread between them as Dorian studied the elf. He seemed older somehow…and suddenly more attractive as he pondered the lingering words. Then he blinked and gave a half-hearted smile. 

“I suppose elves are the opposite?” 

Falon snickered. “No. But we have already lost everything, so we’ve learned to hold everything precious.” 

“You’re depressing, Lavellan.” Dorian quipped. 

“No what I am is tired.” Falon whined, wanting nothing more than to curl up on the soft bed beneath him. “Can we go maybe two days without going to a tavern, Peacock? I’d like to sleep sometime.” 

Dorian chuckled to himself. “I don’t make any promises.” He then waved his hand dismissively. “Now go before you pass out on my bed.” 

Falon snorted, but stood up. “Good night, Peacock. And at least think about going somewhere on your own.” And then Falon exited the room without waiting Dorian’s reply. Once he made it out to the hallway, Falon rested his back against the door. 

Creators preserve him, he couldn’t stop being a Keeper it seemed. He shook his head in frustration. What in the world made him want to grab a hold of the human and never let go? Why did he have the urge to comfort him? The man owned him for Sylaise’s sake! 

Falon took a deep breath, pushing off the door. He couldn’t keep that kind-hearted boy out of his personality it seemed. He let out a shaky breath and turned to go back to the stairs. The house was dark and quiet; he saw a light shining underneath the study door at the end of the hall. But that was the only movement he spotted. 

The hackles on the back of his neck rose. Magic sense or animalistic instincts whatever you wished to call it told him something was wrong. Falon’s heart froze as his ears strained to hear anything beyond the silence. His body shook, his senses sparking to life in one burst of magic he let out. His mind reached out to the bestial forms that resided in Falon. 

Wolf had his hackles raised, teeth bared as he sniffed. Falon took a breath, but found no dangerous smells. Still the wolf growled at something he smelt. Raven hopped nervously, tapping three times before pausing and then doing it again and again. Bear sniffed the air. Falon closed his eyes and suddenly got a hint of noise to his left. 

He turned towards the other quarters, glaring at the dark hallway. The animals all bristled inside of him. Something was down there. He looked back at the study light before creeping quietly. He paused at each door to listen. Mostly he heard nothing. Then he reached Adelina’s room. Her quarters were close to the servant stairs and the magister’s rooms. He only knew it to be her’s because the little flower designs that decorated the doorframe. 

Muffled speech came to him as he pressed an ear against the wood. A tiny sob nearly shattered Falon. Without thinking twice, he opened the door, ready to blast someone’s head off with an ice spell. 

Two figures turned to him, baffled or surprised. Time froze for a moment. Falon noted Adelina clinging desperately to her unconscious servant. The two were also slaves in the house, Falon knew. They were both elven, but had weapons on their belts. Falon cocked an eyebrow, trying to figure out what was happening. 

Adelina looked at him, fear in her eyes before she bolted for him. The two snapped out of their daze and grabbed a fist of her nightshirt. Falon frowned and took a step forward, hand already unsheathing his dagger. He sensed a third behind him. He let his body do what he had trained to do. 

He moved out of the way of the club. His arm blocked another blow. He grabbed the man’s hand, twisted it. The wooden club clattered to the floor as Falon sliced up with his knife. Blood sprang over the man’s chest. One of the others ran forward. Falon heard the sound of a knife being drawn. He dodged, the blade slicing a thin line on his bicep rather than stabbing into his ribs. 

He knew this dance well, dropping his own knife and grabbing the knife-holder’s wrist. His other hand blocked a fist. His wrist flicked the unarmed man away. The knife plummeted to the floor with another twist. A quick fist met the elven man’s face, Falon’s hand still gripping his wrist. In a breath, Falon felt the other come up behind him again. He ducked, twisting the arm behind the owner. That elf met the human man’s fist. He instantly went limp before Falon dropped him. 

Falon twisted and danced away from the larger human. The third elf struggled to keep a hold of Adelina. Falon risked a glance to her. Her large gray eyes were filling with frightened tears. He could either use his magic, or allow them to win. That was his only thought. Falon wasn’t the best brawler, or even the best at swordplay. He wasn’t a rouge; he wasn’t trained to fight long battles, only small scraps. 

A fist connected on his jaw, snapping him out of his thoughts. For a moment, the world became hazy. Falon caught himself from falling, just as another blow pushed the air from his lungs. A bit of spit drizzled out of his mouth, tinged with blood. 

“Fucking—“ The human didn’t get to finish his sentence. Lightning wrapped around the man’s body, seizing it in painful convulsions. The man screamed as he dropped to the ground. Falon straightened himself as he turned to the last elf. His magic flexed, eager to fight. 

The elf looked terrified as he looked at the two on the ground. Falon knew the human would gain consciousness quickly, the other elf might as well. So without thinking more, Falon cast an ice spell. Frost ripped its way around the elf’s muscles, gripping them harshly. Falon rushed forward, gathering the child in his arms. She shook and quivered as he bolted from the room. 

It felt as though fire was behind him, the hallway seeming far too long. The light at the end was miles away to him as he heard swearing coming from the room. Footsteps rang behind him, stumbling a tad. 

“Da’len,” Falon panted, not used to this much exercise. His muscles ached, his heart about to burst from adrenaline. Still his mind shoved him forward. He didn’t know what the three were doing, but his instincts told him it was nothing good. He felt Adelina sniffle in the crook of his neck. “Your mother and father should be in the study.” His voice cracked as his throat became dry. “If I set you down, you have to run as fast as you can to them, ok?” His legs burned and he thought he may never get to the end. 

But his mind focused. Though it seemed like it had been forever since he began running, only seconds had gone by. He passed Dorian’s bedroom. The study light grew brighter. But the footsteps behind him grew louder as well. Falon knew he wouldn’t reach the door carrying a child who was nearly suffocating him. It made him too slow. But frightened children run so much faster. 

Falon skidded to a stop, twenty feet from the study. “Let go, da’len.” He told her, all but ripping her off his neck as he sat her down. His breath was ragged and fast. His heart hurt; his veins hurt. Everything hurt but he turned and looked at the two who pursued them. “Run.” He growled, pushing her behind him. 

Falon took a defensive stance, trying to block as much of the hallway as possible. He focused on his magic, bringing it over his skin. He felt around the floor with it. He had never tried this spell in a house before. But wood was wood. The floor felt dead to his senses, but fragments of life still clung. He fixated on those bits, coaxing them gently. He gave them magic, a spell he knew well. 

The two in front of him slowed to a walk, grinning as though they thought they had won. Adelina gasped and her little feet stumbled trying to get away. Falon snarled, pulling his lip back. 

Oddly he felt alive again. Adrenaline pulsed through him. Magic sung around him. His spell wound around the grains in the woods. Life sprung little shoots. They twisted slowly through cracks. They spiraled together, thickening into roots. He felt them start reaching around his foot. 

A flood of relief ran through him. The roots fed energy to his shaking muscles. They pulsed, strengthening his bones. They grounded him as they slowly wrapped around his ankles. His opponents could not see this. 

“You picked the wrong day to be a hero.” The elf said though it was through a broken nose. Falon smirked wildly. He heard the study door open behind him. Light flooded over him. The two startled, allowing Falon to push all of his magic into the roots. 

In a flurry, the roots turned to thick vines. Leaves sprouted as they climbed up the walls, around the floorboards. They twisted and tangled the two’s feet as they rooted Falon to the ground. Thorns ripped at their legs. The scent of dew and grass invaded the hallway. 

“And you picked the wrong elvhen to fuck with.” Falon grinned. He stood tall like a tree. He mumbled another spell, this one less subtle. His magic flowed easily through the vines as though they were his veins. He twisted them around the human’s calf. The elf scurried backwards, out of reach. Falon reached out his hand and slowly closing it into a fist. The vine squeezed like a snake, snapping the leg in two. 

The human let out a loud screech, waking the dead probably before he dropped. The elf stared in horror at the greenhouse from hell that had sprung to life in the hallway. He scrambled to his feet, heading for the stairs. 

“What in the—“ came from behind Falon. He let his mind go. His instincts raged, something primal awakening at the thought of chase. The vines slackened around his legs, withering as he cut his magic from them. The magic flooded his system with new energy, clean and refreshed. It hovered over his skin as he flitted forward. Almost without effort, Falon drew the magic into his bones, his muscles. His skin shivered in delight. The elf had reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Falon leaped over the human. In his head, there were no thoughts. Only a need to capture. A need for blood. His heart settled, the magic wrapping around it. Falon knew this feeling well. His body began to shift, magic swirling through marrow and tendons. It clung to them, pulling them or hiding them. It pushed them together. It shoved them apart. It was like he had an entire realm of the Fade inside his body, pulsing and changing. 

As he vaulted over the railing, he felt hair turn to feathers. His hands lengthened. His heart beat faster, his bones became lighter. The world changed, sharpened. The edges blurred but his line of sight was clearer than glass. Falon angled his wings downward, cutting through the air after the elf. 

Before he reached the ground, he banked a hard left. Air drifts eased the strain. A few flaps kept him at the perfect height, narrowing in on the frightened elf. He could feel it in the air currents the man left. It was tingly over his feathers, like someone was ruffling them. It stirred something inside the animal form. 

A slight shift in his wings gained him speed as the large hallway headed to the open archway into the garden. Falon pushed himself faster, as though clawing the air in attempt to attain speed. However, two legs were not faster than wings. 

Falon felt a surge of adrenaline run through him. It opened every pore of him. Had he the ability to laugh he would have. Instead he let out a caw. The noise caused the elf to look behind him at what seemed to be a raven. But the turquoise eyes held an intelligence no animal could have. Blood red highlights in the feathers made him think it was a demon. He tried to run faster, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Magic crawled over his skin, the raven’s form shimmering. Feathers gave way to blood red fur. Beak turned to muzzle, the cawing to a howling. Wings turned to paws as the beast seemed to pass through a light barrier. The elf felt the weight come down on him as his feet stumbled. 

Teeth sank into his neck. A scream began. Deep growling mingled with it in the air. The two hit the ground. A snap ended it all. 

***** 

Dorian had just barely begin to drift off into sleep when he heard the first scream. It startled him, forcing his drowsy mind into sudden awareness. He didn’t get out of bed, but lay there, listening. He heard some sort of thump, felt magic in the air down the hall. But it was all so muffled he thought he was merely dreaming or hallucinating. 

Then came the footsteps. The first set blew by his door, then another pair. He blinked, getting out of bed. He hadn’t dreamt that. He threw on a robe, just to see what had gotten the slaves into a tizzy. In the back of his mind, he panicked. He’d seen the aftermath of slave rebellion only once in his life and if he saw another one in his entire life, it would be too soon. But mostly he was angry about the noise. Didn’t they know how late it was? At least have the decency to start a rebellion at a reasonable hour. 

Groggily he managed to get to his door and out into the hall. And he for a moment thought he was in the Fade, staring down the direction the footsteps fled. Bathed in the dim light of his father’s study was Falon, his eyes wild and bright. Did all elves eyes reflect light like that? His pupils had become like silver, the turquoise flashing like light on water. The eyes paired with the halo of light that set his bloody hair on fire, made for a striking image. 

But Dorian was more concerned with the _vines_ that climbed up the walls and down the floorboards. They broke the paneling and tore through the wood. Or rather sprouted from the wood it seemed. The amount of magic flowing through the sudden flora was astounding. How in the Maker’s name did they _not_ realize he was a mage? 

The vines were nearly black with big leafs growing as they twisted and tangled themselves into a jungle. The two that Falon faced down, skittered backwards. The vines apparently had thorns for Dorian spotted blood on their legs as the spindly tips of the plant kept reaching for them. 

The air smelt of magic, but not the kind he was used to. It was wet, dirty, and vaguely foresty. The magic still had its regular metallic bite but it smelt more like water and rocks than actual metal. 

“And you picked the wrong elvhen to fuck with.” Falon’s voice was wild, threatening. And vaguely attractive if Dorian was being honest. Dorian snapped himself out of a daze just as his father came into view behind the elf, who was too busy using the vines to crush the human slave’s leg. The scream made Dorian wince, but he ignored it as the other elf bolted. 

Dorian didn’t know what was happening really, but if the man wished to flee, he had done something in Dorian’s not-so-humble opinion. Dorian focused his mind on a repulsion spell near the stairs. It was hard to do without a staff to focus the magic through. He was rather slow but managed to shove the spell in place, in time for the elf to smack into it. The elf’s wide eyes looked down to Dorian who got a satisfied grin at the amount of terror on the man’s face. That’ll teach him not to wake Dorian up at such an ugly hour when he was beginning to get a hangover. 

The elf glanced back at Falon who cut whatever spell. The plants withered quickly, crumbling away as the man ran forward. There was something feral in his eyes. It suddenly became apparent that Falon was enjoying the idea of chasing the terrified man. Like it was normal, natural even. Dorian shivered at the feral pleasure in those turquoise eyes. The elf looked back at Falon before deciding to jump over the banister to the stairs, passed Dorian’s spell. He tried to form another one, but was distracted by a sudden pull of magical energy. 

It was like Falon became a sponge to all magic, sucking it around him, twisting it like a hurricane. Dorian and his father watched as the elf pulled the magic closer to himself, taking in that hurricane. Light began to shimmer around him, distorting his image. As he jumped onto the banister and then proceeded to push himself off, the magic nearly blinded Dorian. Then the flutter of wings sounded loudly. 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, mouth opening in surprise as a raven dive-bombed the fleeing elf. Dorian shared a look of mixed emotions with his father on the other end of the hallway. They were surprised, concerned, curious, and mystified by the concept of changing forms. In all the research Dorian had read in his studies, everyone disputed the idea of shapeshifting, called it impossible and improbable. Some even said it was blood magic, that only demons possessed such a power. 

His father broke the spell first, moving after the elves. Dorian, pushed by curiosity, followed his father, both briskly walking (Maker forbid they do something so brash as _run_ ) down to the foyer. They followed the sounds of cawing out to the open glass doors that led to the garden. Where they were greeted by a raven that turned to a bloody red wolf in midair. As said wolf landed, knocking the screaming slave down, he wrapped his muzzle around the man’s neck and snapped it. 

Dorian’s stomach turned. If that was Falon, would he eat his kill like a regular wolf? That thought sickened him a bit. He felt his father ready a spell, and gathered his own magic, starting a simple lightning spell, just to immobilize the creature should it try to run. 

But the wolf let go of the elf and turned to them. Dorian was surprised to see the eyes. They were turquoise, a very wary and skittish turquoise. The only evidence that the wolf had killed something was matted fur and blood on its teeth. Otherwise it appeared calm, holding a defensive stance rather than aggressive. 

Dorian took a step forward, hesitantly. If it was a demon, he’d kill it. But if it was Falon… “Lavellan?” he asked cautiously. The wolf cocked its head, looking between the two. Then that vacuum of magic happened again. This time Dorian was able to see the air swirl around him, blowing the grass around like the canine was the center of a tornado. The light attached itself to the animal and flashed, morphing into a humanoid shape before shattering back into darkness. 

Falon’s long braid was the last to materialize and swung back and forth behind him. “Yes?” He asked. From the lanterns lighting the garden, Dorian saw blood staining his teeth and mouth. The only evidence he was the wolf. It was unsettling seeing crimson around his mouth. 

Before he could answer, Dorian’s father let loose a burst of magic, cleansing the elf of his mana temporarily. Falon’s eyes went wide as the spell hit him, a hand going to his throat as though he were choking. Very slowly the elf was forced to one knee as he glared at them. He felt magic try to flare inside the mana cleanse but it flickered out quickly. Dorian blinked as two of their guards, ones they paid, rushed into the garden. Apparently the screaming had woken the whole house. He looked around and saw his mother holding a shaking Adelina, which concerned him greatly; her cheeks were red from tears as their mother bounced her and rubbed her back. 

Some slaves were peeking about, worried about being seen so late after curfew. But his father didn’t seem to care as the elven woman rushed into the garden. What was her name again? Eve? Evie? Dorian furrowed his eyebrows watching her kneel beside Falon. Her eyes were sad as she held a vile up to his lips. The man turned his head away and out of reach. 

The guards quickly seized him, one taking a tight grip on Falon’s braid, forcing his head back. The other grabbed the vile and began to forcibly dump the contents of it. Dorian frowned. 

“Father is magebane really necessary?” He grumbled as he felt the Dalish’s magic suddenly dissipate. He watched as the elf sputtered to breathe, trying to swallow as much of the stuff as he spat out. The bluish liquid trailed down his exposed throat like a waterfall. When the vile emptied the elf crumbled between the two, his eyes completely dead as they lolled around. 

Halward ignored his son. “Bring him to the study.” He ordered the two. Dorian stepped out of the way, frowning in disapproval all the while. He noted that Evea (that was her name!) was shaking her head, sadness and anger in equal measure as she watched them drag Lavellan out of the garden. Dorian vaguely recalled her being a mage as well. “Clean this up.” Halward barked as he too returned to the house. Slaves jumped and scurried to do their master’s bidding as Dorian followed. 

The alcohol was starting to pound in his head, like it was having its own party in his skull. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the hangover now draping over him, but Dorian was going to be damned if his father got to abuse that strange mage. He told himself it was because he wanted to know how in the world Falon could change shapes, rather than admit to himself he was finding the elf more attractive than was wise. 

***** 

The study was ungodly warm for Dorian, making him sweat as his body fought to burn away the wine from earlier away. He rubbed his eyes as a yawn broke over him. Falon was on his knees being held up by the two guards. Poor sod probably didn’t know where he was with the amount of poison he was given. 

Dorian felt a stab of pity, looking at the blank eyes that had held such wild fire inside them not ten minutes before. It was the look of what he imagined to be a southern Tranquil. Dead. Staring at the world without really seeing it. For a moment, he wondered if he had been born in say Orlais (he would not even entertain the idea of being born in Ferelden), would he have been made tranquil? It was a scary thought of having everything that made him Dorian taken just like that. 

“Father…” Dorian began before he saw the look of utter rage on his father’s face. Suddenly he was twelve again, having just broke some priceless thing of his father’s. Dorian nearly shriveled up. But then he regained himself. “Surely drugging the man wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t moved to attack us.” 

“Just because a snake does not strike, doesn’t mean it won’t when you get close enough.” His father hissed. Dorian sighed to himself. Why did his parents have to speak in strange metaphors as though he would understand those lessons better than regular language? He of course knew what his father meant, he wasn’t plebian. Dorian looked at the elf, and a thought came to him. The animal metaphors only came up with slaves. Was it simpler to think of slaves as animals? Did his parents view them as such? Such thoughts darkened his mind. 

“Snake and animal metaphors aside…” He began, losing his temper quickly. “Do we even know what caused all this? And moreover I thought you said he was not a mage?” Dorian jabbed at his father. 

“Aelianus claimed to not have found magic; I did not say he wasn’t a mage.” His father returned. Dorian rolled his eyes. Of course you did nothing wrong, Father, Dorian thought bitterly. Falon made groan as his head rolled around. He was struggling against the drugs, which was good Dorian supposed. 

Adelina was still being held by their mother in the corner, less hysterical now. Still her eyes were rimmed with red and she shook. Dorian turned to her just as the door opened again. “Lina, what happened?” Dorian asked quietly as she tried to cower into their mother’s shoulder. Dorian followed her eyes to the door. The human slave was being held up by Evea (the woman looked rather pissed about it, like the man stunk of rotten meat) as he hobbled his way into the room. They both bowed their heads to Halward as another slave entered, guards behind him. 

This one was a slight elf, one that had always creeped Dorian out. The slave reminded him of a weasel or perhaps a lecher… He had a blanket wrapped around him, frostbite showing on his ear tips and fingers. What really did happen, Dorian wondered. 

Dorian stood beside his mother and watched the slaves as they shared a look before looking at Halward. It was like watching small children before their parent. Or mice trapped by a snake…Dorian bit a chuckle at how meek they looked. 

“Master…” the elven slave began but stopped seeing Halward’s glare. 

“Master Halward, I humbly beg your forgiveness for the destruction of the night…” The human said tactfully. Dorian snorted at how fake his voice sounded. What were their names? He couldn’t quite recall and couldn’t quite feel bad enough for forgetting them. Evea even made a disgusted sound under her breath. 

“Oh? Then explain what in the Maker’s name is going on?” Dorian growled when his father seemed content to stabbing the slaves with his silence. The man looked to Dorian slightly, a look of disgust on his dirty and bruised face. Dorian was quite used to it by now. 

“Silas and I were on our way back down to our quarters, _sire_ , when we heard a sound from Miss Adelina’s room.” Dorian glanced at his sister who was quite frightened of the two. He also noted from his peripheral Falon’s head had stopped moving. It was cocked like he was listening, his eyes still dull, but vaguely alive again. “We investigated and found… _that_ ,” The man spat in the direction of Falon, “trying to get the little girl to go with him.” 

Silas nodded in agreement, “We tried to stop him but he froze me, snatched the girl, and ran out.” Dorian gave them credit for lying so well. 

“And why would the Dalish want my daughter?” Dorian’s father questioned in a neutral tone. The two shared a look before bowing their heads again. 

“I suspect for some heinous ritual his people perform.” Silas offered. 

“L-lies.” Falon managed to spit out. It sounded strangled and forced. One of the guards slammed his fist into the back of the red head’s skull. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Dorian hissed, glaring at the guard. The guard returned the glare, still holding Falon far too tightly. The poor man would mostly be bruised and battered beyond recognition tomorrow. “Lies, Falon? What lies?” Dorian asked the elf. He saw the man blinking as though trying to stay awake. 

“All…of it.” The elf’s head fell forward as though cut from its string. Dorian rubbed his temples against the headache. Well thank you for stating the obvious, Lavellan. He sighed and looked at this father. Surely the magister wouldn’t believe such an outlandish tale. He looked to his mother who frowning her disapproval at the slaves. 

“Adelina,” Halward started, his tone softening as his daughter looked to him. “What happened?” Dorian saw both the slaves pale. Evea got a smug smirk on her face. Adelina’s eyes went from Halward to the slaves and back to her father. 

“It’s alright, love.” Their mother cooed. 

“Come little bird, tell us what happened.” Evea whispered softly. 

“They wanted me to come with them, but Nalya wouldn’t let them. They hit her and grabbed me. Told me not to make a sound or they’d hurt you and mama. Falon came in and hit them back. ‘e grabbed me and ran, said to run real fast if he let go.” Her voice was strangled with little tears. All of their faces turned to the slaves. 

“O-of course she says that.” Silas tried to cover up. The human (Rian Dorian suddenly recalled. If only to know who to make life a living hell for later) looked around in a frenzy before getting real calm. Dorian cocked an eyebrow. 

“He must have cast some sort of spell on her, Master.” Rian was trying really hard apparently. Looking for any ridiculous hole out. Dorian scoffed to himself. “Only a demon or some who has dealt with demons before could change his shape.” 

“Or the Dalish have far more arcane knowledge than we know,” His mother added with a glare. “I’ve seen no evidence of blood magic upon him.” She turned her ice eyes to her servant, who neither flinched nor shied from them. “Evea, you’ve been watching him have you not?” 

Ah, so Mother does have spies, Dorian noted. 

The elf nodded. “Yes, Mistress. I had my suspicions about him being a mage. Had this not happened, I would’ve told you in the morning about the…confrontation in the kitchen which my suspicions are founded upon.” Evea bowed her head slightly. “However, I do not believe the Dalish to be a blood mage.” 

His mother nodded and returned her icy glare to the men, who cowered. Dorian was quite amused at how they thought they could get away with such a horrid lie. A part of him told him he only thought they were lying due to his attachment to the Dalish, but every other part of him said that was preposterous. 

“Evea will you take Adelina back to her rooms and see to Nalya?” Halward muttered. 

“Of course, Master Halward.” And with a relieved look she disentangled herself from Rian and walked up to the child. She held her arms out with a quiet smile. “Come, little bird, we’ll see if we can’t work a bedtime story in.” Adelina let herself be passed, and clung to the small elven woman. 

“Your hair is pretty,” She sniffled. The elf rubbed her back as they walked to the door. 

“Why thank you. Your Dalish friend did it for me.” And then silence spread as the door shut behind them. 

“Dorian, dear, you best go to sleep. You look dreaful.” His mother said with a disapproving tone. He looked to her and found her eyes warning him from protesting. “And you two, take Falon back to his quarters. Gently if you please.” She barked at the guards. They looked unhappy as they “gently” dragged the elf out. 

“What are you going to do with them?” Dorian asked his father. Halward pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. Apparently Dorian wasn’t the only one with a hangover. 

“Never you mind, dear. I’ll tell you in the morning. Now go. To. Bed.” His mother began pushing him out the door as though he were still a boy of seven. He glared at her from over his shoulder. 

“I’m not a child, Mother.” He protested despite having been properly booted out of the room. 

“Nonsense. You will always be a child.” She gave him one of her few sincere smiles before she shut the door on his face. Dorian frowned at the dark wood. But his hangover caused the world to spin for a moment and suddenly he didn’t mind being ordered to go to bed. Bed sounded lovely right now. 

Tomorrow he would worry about the elf. Right now, Dorian needed his proper beauty sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my I warned you that I'm not very good at fight scenes... Too much of a pacifist. So the next chapter is like a big reveal thing so I hope you all stick around for that at least.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Da'Vhenen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets a glimpse of how bad Tevinter has been for Falon, and Falon gets some friendly advice from that pesky Love spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Rape and Domestic Violence ahead! (It was kinda hard for me to write actually...I'm such a cruel Creator...)

Morning came too soon for Dorian. The light was too bright, the noise of the market district was too loud, and Maker his head hurt too much. Dorian glanced at the mirror as he walked to the hallway, having been woken up by the undeniable need to vomit. He had seen no reason to go back to bed as the chimes of the Chantry stuck eleven. So he had gotten himself presentable. 

He had missed breakfast, he was sure. Dorian walked down the hallway that had been previously a greenhouse. It was strange. The air still smelt like leaves and rain. The floorboards were all but ruined with scrapes and scuffs. The wall paneling was torn to shreds. Slaves were already beginning to repair what they could. They barely looked up at him as he started down the stairs. 

Dorian quickly snuck into the kitchen, snagging an apple quietly before slipping back out. He had gotten quite good at sneaking food. Or the slaves were just so used to him doing it, they never paid him any attention. 

Or perhaps they did not think any of a man who claimed to be their master walking in and taking food. Dorian bit into the apple pondering that strange thought. Now where did it come from? He had never thought about how slaves might think or feel before. He assumed they were comfortable, that slavery was a better alternative than the slums he heard so much about in the South. 

As he ate, he wandered into the garden. The crisp air helped to clear his head as he took a deep breath. It smelt of salt from the sea, and of various herbs and plants his mother kept. The body had been removed and the stone scrubbed clean. Still the image of Falon’s muzzle tearing into the man’s neck so easily, unsettled his stomach. He swallowed slowly, the apple suddenly seeming too sweet. 

“Dorian, there you are dear.” His mother’s voice shattered his thoughts as he contemplated his apple. “I thought I’d have to study one of your resurrecting spells.” His mother smiled pleasantly, her hair done up in pearl pins. She came from the direction of the foyer. 

“My mother soiling her hands with a resurrection? Perish the thought.” Dorian quipped. His mother preferred alchemical concoctions, astrology, history, and old Tevinter contraptions. If she had to use her magic, it was in the form of lightning, the purest form of magic as she always claimed. 

“I just hate the smell of corpses, dear, you know that.” She teased. Dorian took another bite of his apple as she walked up to him. Her silver and white robes accented every move she took, each one more powerful than the last. 

“Why were you looking for me, Mother?” He asked. 

Her face sobered a tad. She reached into the little satchel upon her sash. She pulled out a small vile of lyrium. Her face was grim as she looked at it, her silence setting Dorian on edge. When she looked up at him, she was dead serious. 

“I want you to take this to your Dalish…as an apology. He should be in his quarters. And take him some breakfast from our kitchens, as a thank you. He is dreadfully thin, dear.” His mother looked as though she was offended by the elf’s lack of weight. But Dorian’s stomach knotted. Why did it seem he was taking Lavellan his last dinner? 

“What is all this for, Mother?” He asked warily. She looked away for a moment. 

“I told you the lyrium is an apology for drugging him. The breakfast is thank you for…saving my daughter.” She said quietly, still looking like some aloof queen. “We reward those who do good by us, do we not?” 

“Well don’t sound so fatalistic about it then.” Dorian suggested. His mother snorted in response. Her face was still grim. “Anything else, Mother?” He probed. He wanted to know what had occurred after he had been expelled. But it was rude to ask outright, and his mother would surely lecture him. His head hurt too much for a lecture right now. 

She eyed him a moment, as though following his thoughts. “Rian and Silas are to be interrogated, and if they are lucky killed for attempting to kidnap Adelina.” 

Dorian blinked. “Why did they wish to kidnap her?” Then he paused. “Why would they be lucky to be killed?” He asked with no small about of disbelief in his voice. His mother gave the smile Falon said frightened him, one of a cat about to kill a bird. 

“I will make their lives hell, my dear son.” Then she dropped her smile. Dorian pushed back a shiver. His mother could be just as frightening as a blood mage if she wished to be. “From what Oswin was able to gather last night, the three hoped to kidnap her, ransom her for their freedom. If we did not agree, they would have either killed her or taken her with them as they fled, to prevent us from sending hunters hopefully.” 

Dorian’s face must have mirrored his disgust for his mother smiled again. “They are in the holding cells. Your father said they will remain there until we can find further proof, in case there are anymore such attempts. Then we will decide what to do with them.” 

“I’m surprised he hadn’t ordered to kill them yet.” Dorian thought aloud. His mother nodded in agreement. 

“He was, but realized that there might be others involved. Evea and Oswin are looking into it. As for your Dalish…” 

“He’s not _mine_ , Mother. He has made that abundantly clear.” Dorian corrected, ignoring the twist in his stomach at the thought of Falon hearing him be referred to as an object which Dorian owned. 

“Of course.” His mother chuckled but sobering quickly again. She pressed the lyrium into his hand. “He is to be kept from food or water for two days and lashed.” Dorian’s heart stopped. He looked at his mother, mouth agape. His throat closed around any protests he could think of. 

“What happened to rewarding those who do good by us?” He managed to sputter out. His mother took on a patronizing look as though he was throwing a tantrum again. It pushed his anger up. 

“Oswin said he attacked you last night.” Dorian winced as though he’d been struck. Stupid, idiotic elf, he cursed to himself. He should have known better than to do his rough-house therapy. 

“I attacked him first, Mother.” Dorian growled. 

“He should not have fought back.” She countered. 

“He didn’t.” He protested with venom. “He never struck me, even when I struck him with lightning. At any point in time, Mother, he could have fought back, with or without magic. And he didn’t.” His mother nodded sadly. 

“Your father would have him killed. I managed to talk him down from lashed till dead, to ten lashes that have already been dealt.” She put a hand on Dorian’s arm. Dorian sighed loudly, knitting his eyebrows together. He took the lyrium and put it into his pocket. He was angry, but somehow felt ashamed. For what he couldn’t begin to think of. 

“I—Thank you, Mother.” He mumbled quietly. His mother patted his arm with her motherly smile. 

“Of course, darling. What kind of mother would I be if I allowed my husband to strip my vagrant son of his bodyguard in a fit of rage?” 

“I am not a vagrant.” Dorian protested, offended. She laughed. 

“Then how about hooligan?” 

“No.” 

“Then stay out of the taverns, my son.” She smiled as she turned away and headed back into the house. It was vaguely scary how much she knew. Dorian rubbed the back of his neck before tossing his apple core into the pile a slave created as he cleaned the rooms around the garden. 

He thought for a moment. His mother said he had already been lashed. Dorian hadn’t lied when he said he was shit at healing spells. Dead things were his expertise, not the living. His stomach coiled at the thought of seeing Falon dead. He quickly tore himself away from the thoughts before he could elaborate. 

Evea was a mage…perhaps she knew some healing spells. The two elves seemed to get along well enough. And at least Dorian wouldn’t get lost trying to find the Dalish’s room in the mess of slave quarters. 

He looked to the slave who was cleaning. “Pardon me,” he began. The young boy’s head snapped up before he bowed low. 

“Y-yes, Master Dorian?” The boy stuttered. Dorian almost laughed at how frightened he seemed. Instead Dorian thought of his name. Maker he needed to start paying attention. Though he was taught that slaves were people, and told to address them by their names, he hardly recalled either of his parents doing so, save with their favorites. 

Thankfully this young man Dorian had seen before with Oswin. 

“Mikkel, yes?” Dorian asked, in a soft manner. The boy’s eyes looked up. 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Do you know where I might find Evea?” 

“I believe she’s in the kitchens, serah.” 

“Thank you.” And with that Dorian headed for the kitchens again. How he was going to rope the elf into helping him when there was surely an order not to heal Lavellan, he had yet to come up with. He sent a silent thanks that he was good at improvisation among everything else (humility not being one of them). 

***** 

Turns out Evea didn’t need much coaxing to help Falon. He hadn’t asked her about healing him, but she offered to carry the tray to the room. She was quiet as they walked through the slave quarters. 

It struck Dorian how rustic this section of the house was. Windows were covered with dingy curtains turning the light into a sort of brown color. The bricks were old and cracking, the floor was little more than dirt. They had old rusting torch holders and rickety wooden doors with handles that seemed more likely to give you tetanus than open. He frowned looking about. 

He didn’t think it was _horrible_ living conditions (if one compared it to alternatives or other slave houses), but he’d have to see about fixing the doors at least. Perhaps his mother would agree. 

Slaves bowed as he walked passed, clinging to the sides of the small hallways to allow Dorian the most room. He kept Evea in front of him, to lead him through the twisting maze to Falon’s quarters. They weren’t too far from the bathing area, nor the kitchens. Evea even remarked he had some luck there. 

She motioned to the old rotting door. “That’s his, Master.” She said. Dorian frowned hearing some sort of whine. He held up a hand before she could attempt to open the door with her armload. 

“Allow me.” He said politely. She nodded meekly and stepped to the side. Cautiously, not knowing if the man had ‘company’ or not, Dorian pushed the door open. He was not quite prepared for the sight he got. 

Falon was pressed against the wall opposite the door. He was being held off the ground by an arm across his neck and collarbone. The stranger was also elven, but of a slightly larger build than the lanky Dalish. Ash blonde stubble showed the brand on the back of his neck that every slave got if they were sold through a slave house. Falon was obviously struggling against the man’s grip, hands trying to claw at the arm, the face. He was making little choking noises as though trying not to cry. 

Dorian’s blood boiled as he leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat. “A word of advice?” He stated in a rather threatening tone masked as kindness. The other elf froze, dropping Falon to the ground. Slowly the man turned to him. “The fighting back means no.” Dorian kept his gaze steady as the elf looked back to his would-be victim. Falon was breathing heavily, keeping his eyes low as he pulled his unbuttoned shirt closer. The Dalish seemed to curl in on himself. 

“And I would also advise against doing this again.” Dorian warned as he stepped in. The slave set his jaw but bowed. Dorian noted the man was angry, as though he thought if Dorian got to do such things, why wasn’t he allowed? The thought disgusted Dorian to no end. “Leave. Now.” He growled, dismissing the elf as he went to Falon’s side. 

He heard the man bolt, nearly running over Evea by the sounds of her string of curses. He was more concerned with Falon who was looking away, shaking hands trying to redo his buttons. Evea sat the tray down in a huff before suddenly getting quiet. Silently she walked to Dorian’s side. 

He bent down and gently grabbed the elf by his bicep to pull him up. The elf protested by yanking his arm away and staggering to his feet. He glared at the corner of his room, hands fumbling to fix his pants. 

“I don’t need your help.” He hissed. His eyes were still dead. Falon looked like hell had spit him back out. His hair was a mess of frazzled braids, some strands coming out completely. Dark circles were under his eyes. An unnatural paleness was under his skin tone. He looked haggard and frail as he fidgeted with his shirt buttons. 

“Yes because you were doing a fantastic job at defending yourself.” Dorian’s tongue spoke without him really thinking. He clicked his mouth shut realizing that he had no filter today apparently. “That was—“ 

“Unworthy? It was none of your concern.” Falon snapped back. Evea grabbed ahold of him as he swayed. His body was shivering and rocking back and forth in a great effort to stay upright. His legs quaked as he leaned against the smaller elf. 

“Well, I made it my concern didn’t I?” Dorian rebuked as Evea guided Falon to the filthy bed. The sheets were bloodstained as was the back of his shirt. His shirt clung to him in places, wet and dark. “Evea, heal his wounds if you would.” Dorian muttered absently. 

Falon stumbled, falling into the bed and bringing the poor woman with him. Dorian might have thought it funny to watch him so disoriented if he had not known he was that way partly because of him. 

“Master Halward—“ Evea mumbled as she struggled to get Lavellan upright. 

“If my father wishes to give you grief, tell him I asked you to do it. He can bring his fury to me.” Dorian interrupted. His demeanor must have frightened the girl as she didn’t protest. Maker’s balls he was turning into his father, Dorian thought with no small amount of disgust. He crossed his arms and watched as she coaxed Falon out of his torn shirt. 

Bruises colored his skin. Dorian winced at a particularly nasty one on his biceps. “Fenedhis! Why does everything hurt?!” Falon cried out. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. From the pain that was in his eyes, he probably was. Dorian softened a tad, sitting next to the man. Evea moved to sit behind them. 

Carefully Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder. It felt strange. Electricity seemed to buzz right around his hand. His stomach twisted as he caught a glimpse of the horrid gashes that marred his back. Had Dorian much in his stomach, he thought he might have lost it. 

“Do you remember nothing of last night?” He asked softly. 

“A little.” He let out a whine as Evea touched his back. “I-I remember a little. I remember the study and those bastards lying…and nothing else.” His breath was rapid as he spoke. He kept arching back away from Evea’s spell with little noises of pain slipping out. But Dorian found he preferred the cries to the laughs. 

“Do you remember being lashed?” Dorian swallowed bile in his throat. He kept his thumb rubbing circles, noting how soft the skin was. Falon shook his head, obviously trying not to cry. “Thank the Maker for that at least.” Dorian let out. The elf snorted weakly as Evea finished up. “How’s your magic?” He asked. Falon furrowed his eyebrows looking down at his hands. The elf shook as he concentrated. In his hand, a small light flickered to life. Dorian felt his own magic reach out to the strange earthy magic. But it faded away as Falon let out a large breath. 

“Not good apparently.” He muttered. Dorian took out the lyrium vile and placed it in the man’s hand. A burning desire to drink it all appeared in his eyes. Dorian watched as the elf turned the crystal glass around with his thumb. 

“I’d wait for the magebane to pass a bit more before you drink it. My mother tells me one would get dreadfully sick if they consume lyrium under the drug’s effects.” Dorian said nonchalantly. 

“You’d give a slave lyrium?” 

Dorian tried not to let his wince show. “Think of it as an apology for drugging you in the first place. You did save Adelina after all.” 

“Oh?” a despondent smile crept at the edges of Falon’s mouth. 

“Don’t think you’ll get such a reward every time you save the day.” Dorian remarked sarcastically. 

“Oh, no, of course not. Can’t have mage slaves having access to lyrium.” The elf rolled his eyes. 

“Just think of the scandal. I can scarcely handle the thought of it.” Dorian put a hand over his heart as though he were about to faint. He heard a snort/laugh come from both the elves. He’d take it. 

“I am finished, Master. Will there be anything else?” Evea asked as she stood back up. Dorian shook his head. 

“No thank you, Evea.” 

She bowed low. “I will go see about finding the Dalish some clean clothes. And possibly some sheets.” And then she disappeared out the door, closing it softly behind her. Dorian hazarded a glance at Lavellan’s back, letting his hand drop. It was still bad; angry pink lines were spread across his back. But it wasn’t a bloody pulp of flesh at least. Dorian suddenly wondered if he could see the vallaslin. But Falon quickly tugged his shirt back on, holding the collar closed. 

“How often does that happen?” Dorian asked into the silence. He felt a sharp pain in his chest as the elf looked away. Shame clouded his bright eyes. He worked his jaw for a few minutes. Dorian was about to give up when Falon turned his head towards him, still not meeting his eyes. 

“Do not concern yourself.” 

Dorian sighed loudly. He had this urge to grab the elf and hold on to him. To shake him. To tell him… To tell him what? That he would not let this happen again? Dorian could not make that promise a reality. But he could protect the elf as best he could. Perhaps have another share his room? Or and perish the thought, have him sleep in his own quarters. His stomach twisted at the idea. His mother would surely faint at the idea. 

“Falon, I—“ Dorian started but stopped. Why was articulating his thoughts so damn hard? “If I can help, I will. It’s not much, but…” 

He felt Lavellan sigh, his shoulders dropping as though he was defeated. “Once or twice a week. When we don’t stay here often, I can go maybe two weeks.” Dorian felt as though he was struck a mortal blow. Disgust and anger started to coil in his chest. “It’s alright. I’m used to it.” His voice sounded so small and dead, Dorian wanted to shake him till he became that fierce mage from the night before. 

“Pardon me if I’m not an expert, but one does not get used to being raped, Lavellan.” Dorian snapped gently. The elf’s eyes slowly looked at him, wide with surprised. Like he didn’t realize it had a word. His mouth opened and shut. Then the surprise turned into something else. Like he was thanking him with his eyes, for saying it. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I suppose not.” Falon finally offered. “You become numb to it. But it’s the past now, it can’t hurt anymore.” 

Dorian thought for a moment. “It seems to me, that past hurts more than the present.” He gave quietly. Falon went back to studying the floor, playing with the vile. Dorian could swear he heard their heartbeats in the deadly silence. 

“Only as much as you let it.” 

_Then why do you let it hurt you so much?_ , Dorian thought. He could tell by the defeated posture, the tension in the jaw and the distance of the eyes, Falon wasn’t really here. He was somewhere else. In some painful memory that he kept close to his heart, wrapped around it like a chain. But Dorian didn’t think him saying such would help much. 

“I-I…” Made Dorian winced. 

“Did I just say what I was thinking outloud?” Dorian muttered, seeing the elf furrowing his eyebrows. Like he hadn’t thought about it like that. But the man nodded silently. Dorian opened his mouth to take back what he said. However, _apologies do not bring the dead back or correct the past,_ floated into his head. He couldn’t just take back his words; he’d said them and perhaps they were for the better. 

“You’d best eat your breakfast. It’s going to be the last one in a while.” Dorian mumbled instead as he stood up. Falon’s eyes looked up to the tray. A smile came over Dorian as he heard the man’s stomach growl. “And I’ll see if my mother has any suggestions to prevent…this from happening. Aside from castrations.” The elf gave a ghost smile at that. 

Well at least it’s something. 

Dorian gave a small bow as Falon looked up at him. “What will everyone think, Peacock? You bringing a slave lyrium _and_ food?” His voice was gruff and shaky. It made Dorian want to grab ahold of him even more. He clenched his fists slightly. 

“That I’m a humanitarian, of course.” He mocked. 

Falon snorted, “I’m not human so wouldn’t it be elvhenitarian?” Dorian chuckled. 

“Don’t lose that wit. You need to sharpen it.” Dorian smiled as he turned and left. He heard a soft ‘ma serannas’ follow him out into the hallway. He tried to quench the stomach churning that those two words induced. So soft and fragile, yet shattered into a million pieces. Dorian didn’t know if he himself would have been able to pick the pieces up. 

Stubborn as a mountain even when he was broken and eroded down, Dorian thought with a smile. He turned to try and find his way back to the main house, to find his mother. Who would most likely be with Adelina. Finding his little sister wouldn’t be too hard…He hoped. 

***** 

Falon waited till he could no longer hear Dorian’s boots before he started to pick at the food. He started with the bread, finding it to be spiced and fresh. His stomach churned for a moment, still clenched in a knot from feeling the ghost hands creep around him. 

One does not get used to rape echoed in his mind. Rape…they had a word for it. It wasn’t just him not enjoying sex, him not wanting any of it. Something wasn’t wrong with him. That thought threatened to melt the barrier that Falon put up to keep from thinking those dreaded thoughts, of feeling entirely desecrated. 

He smiled sadly feeling his barriers breaking down. It had a name, a title. No longer was it just ghost hands, people who had laid with him he didn’t love nor lust for. It wasn’t something he should’ve enjoyed but didn’t. It wasn’t him not doing a job. It was rape. 

Elven had no equivalent that he knew of, so it’s full meaning was far from his grasp. But he now had a name to put to the action. He might ask Dorian what it entirely meant later, but now his body shook as he fought tears. 

His mind and body were drained. He felt his magic like a far off part of him, floating just out of reach. Wisps seemed to break off and come into him. It felt like he wasn’t truly breathing. The air was hollow inside his lungs. It was a feeling Falon knew well. 

As his mind began to breakdown, he finished the last of his food. It was cold and odd tasting, but it filled his stomach to the point where his body became lethargic. Without magic flowing through him, his body felt heavy, a disconnected thing from his head. It would be a few more hours before he could take the lyrium. 

Falon’s eyes became heavy as he looked to the door. A numbness spread through him, the Fade tugging at his mind. He prayed to the Creators to keep everyone from his door. And to keep nightmares from him as he settled back down to sleep off the poison. Damn the consequences. 

***** 

Even in his weakened state, Falon knew the moment he entered the Fade. His grandmother trained him to be acutely aware of the strange place. _Fen’Harel will tempt you every turn. You mustn’t allow him to trick you._ His grandmother’s voice echoed in the empty gray space he was in. 

Spirits began to craft for him a scene, finally sensing another in their realm. He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing a brook somewhere. He felt grass beneath his feet, soft grass. Towering trees and wet fauna drifted to his nose before he opened his eyes. He saw the Emerald Graves before him. The tall trees reached to the sky as though they were columns that held it in place. 

Falon had been there once at the gathering of the clans when he was a small child. He had met Mahariel and Tamlen there for the first time. It brought a smile to his lips as he looked at the light sliding through the leaves. 

Peace surrounded him, wrapped him in an embrace that pushed all darkness from him. He felt the trees’ roots beneath the ground, still pulsing strong with life. His people believed each tree was a grave marker for an Emerald Knight. Though some were marked with names, and others were left unadorned, Falon believed the trees had taken those knights into their roots, used their strength to grow taller than any other forest. 

Indeed feeling the life beneath this make-believe forest, was like feeling the energy of an entire army as it marched to battle. The trees pulsed in sync. Falon laughed as he thought of some trees keeping cadence for the others, the wind becoming the marching song that flowed around the army. 

He felt protected by the woods. Like he was once again surrounded by his clan as a shemlen Templar demanded them give him up. These wooden soldiers stood guard as Falon looked around them. His feet were agile as they climbed over roots. His heart was calm and a warmth spread through his body. 

He stopped at a tree with a grave marker. Gently he wiped away the twigs and leaves, kneeling so his forehead touched the base. He whispered a prayer for the Creators to watch over the Knight and for his Guardian to protect him from Fen’Harel even in the Beyond. 

As he straightened, a glimpse of white caught his eye. He turned to the left, spying a statue not far off. Falon quickly muttered a thanks for such a wonderful dream before trekking down to the creek bed. A wolf statue, vines beginning to overtake it, stood upon a ledge, watching over the creek. 

Falon smiled brightly as he stepped into the water. It was cold, a shock going through his body. But it was a shock of joy. He felt the silt with his toes, feeling more like smooth fur than mud. The water played about his ankles, glittering like the most precious treasure in the world. Pebbles were gemstones as the water smoothed every rough edge away in its march down the hill. 

“It is good to see you smile, da’vhenen.” Made him startle. Falon jumped as though to run as a figure walked quietly from behind the statue. It had no features, but it was in a humanoid shape. Light emanated from it that made him look away. It filled the air with a sense of calm, a warmth that reminded him of far off days in his parents’ aravel. Falon glared towards the entity, unsure if it was a demon or not. The figure stayed on the other side of the creek. It held out its hand to him. 

“Do not fear. I am no demon. I wish to help you.” The light seemed to speak. Falon cocked an eyebrow. 

“Unless you can teleport me back home, I don’t think you could help me.” He quipped. His smile was gone, replaced by a stone face. The light still held out its hand. “What are you if not a demon?” 

“I am a spirit of Love.” Falon snorted loudly. “ _Love? Love does not exist. It is a cruel mockery, a parasite, a twisted gnarled vine dying before it’s truly born._ ” Falon’s face morphed from surprise to concern, hearing his thoughts come from the spirit. His heart sped up, his brain trying to throw walls up against another invasion. If it could easily get inside his head… 

“I want to help. I care not for your body. I care for you heart.” 

“Well that just makes it _so_ much better, doesn’t it?” Falon’s voice cracked a tad. He wanted to flee, but his feet seem to have been rooted to the creek. The light pulsed out, a faint tinkling of bells. The smell of Crystal Grace, of halla and burning woods wafted from the being. Though his mind told him to run, he couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t. 

“Cracked, chained, shattered shards, sharp and bleeding, shackled together inside a cage. He still holds you captive, miles away yet his hand holds your heart.” Falon’s heart quivered like a frightened bird. _Stop, leave me be_ , he thought hard, fearing any more might “ _Shatter my walls_. They need to come down, like an old torture room filled with so much agony the stones scream. Let your heart scream, bleed, cry and heal, healthy, whole. Let him go.” 

“I-I” His voice cracked again, making him clear his throat. “I don’t know what you are talking about spirit. But if we are done—“ 

“Kalor.” The name made his blood run cold. Suddenly the forest swooned, became to bright, too hot. The water turned to fire it seemed. His breath stuck against his ribs, his heart strangling itself. “He hurt you, hit you, confused you. You want him to be like he was before. But that was the lie, not what came after.” 

Falon’s eyes stung with tears. He was choking on pain that was not there, was imaginary. He felt every wall he built show cracks, blackness seeping out. The spirit suddenly came closer, the light wrapping around him. He knew that though he had tried to forget everything that had happened, pushed it from him, tried to move on and regain a part of himself, all he had done was lock it away. 

The spirit wrapped its arms around him, the warmth of his family’s hugs pouring around him. “ _It hurts to let go._ But it hurts more to hold on. The chains choke, corrode, corrupt a once innocent spirit, changing till it’s denied itself. Dangerous, damaged, demon, dead.” Falon’s heart stopped at demon. The spirit seemed to look directly at him, seeing more than any one else could. Tears came from his eyes. It knew his feelings before he did. 

“I’ve forgotten what it’s like…not to feel this…hole.” He choked out as he fought back the tears. 

“Let go. Feel. Melt the ice, break the chains. Sing the songs, stroke strings make them sing, make your heart revasan, place of freedom.” 

Someone opening his bedroom door startled Falon awake. His heart was pounding, tears drying on his face and burning his eyes. His magic pulsed out once, daring whoever to come near him. 

“Did I wake you up?” Evea’s voice sounded as startled as his mind. Falon gulped in air to calm himself. The feel of the warmth invaded his body. He could still feel the creek around his ankles, the spirit shielding him. His skin prickled lightly. He curled up on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs, watching Evea come in. 

“Sort of.” He admitted. His cheeks felt crusty with tears. Evea looked at him for a moment. His hands wiped harshly at the tear stains on his face. “What brings you here, flat-ear?” His voice broke once. His mind repeated the spirit’s words over and over. His heart almost pulsed the words into him. 

She held up clothes. “I found some clothes that should fit you. You alright, Dalish?” She walked closer. Her dress rustled as she knelt in front of him. He felt the tears well up again. His breathe caught as he tried to regain himself. 

“No not really.” He managed, knowing saying that he was fine would be a blatant lie. Hesitantly, Evea’s hand grabbed his. She squeezed it gently. 

“Master Dorian is trying to figure something out. And don’t worry about Mathan coming back, I got—“ 

“Evea,” He interrupted. She blinked as though startled that he knew her name. His eyes were downcast, his brow furrowed. He set his jaw, trying to find the right words in his head. “Could you…explain what…rape is exactly?” his voice was quiet. He felt her eyes on his face making him look up at her. Confusion was glowing in her eyes, pulling her eyebrows together. 

“Do…the Dalish not have it or something?” She asked hesitantly. He bit his lips trying to think of how to explain it properly. 

“We…My clan speaks elven almost exclusively. Trade tongue…it is foreign to me. I do not know the word, so I do not know if we have it or not.” He spoke slowly, picking his words carefully. Evea nodded as she looked away. She placed the clothes on the ground before sitting next to him. Her hand never left his. 

Falon found it strange to hold such a dainty thing. Vaguely he realized he might be squeezing too hard, but she gripped right back. Her hands were rough and calloused against his. Still they held magic; their magics darted at each other, testing the other. 

“Well…” She shifted uncomfortably beside him. “It’s…basically when someone forces you to have sex with them. You don’t have any say in it really.” 

Falon studied the pile of clothes in front of him, mulling that over. He thought of how basically Tevinter was just a long series of rapes for him then. But then his mind tried to say he wasn’t raped by Kalor. Falon and him were bonded. Falon had given over a part of himself as Kalor had to him. Shouldn’t what one wanted be what the other wanted? 

His stomach coiled remembering those thoughts drifting in his head as he lay next to Kalor. They brought a sense of guilt with them usually if only because Falon did not feel pleasure when he thought he should have. He thought it was his job to satisfy his husband’s needs before his own. 

“So…can it happen with…” The word got lost in his head. He furrowed his eyebrows harshly. “people you’re supposed to love? Husbands? Wives?” 

Again Evea shifted. “Yeah…” He felt her eyeing him oddly. He looked at her for a moment. His tears subsided, his mind focusing on understanding this new word. His stomach was a miserable knot as he found the bottle of lyrium still on his stand. Gently he grabbed it. His magic was still a weak stream beneath his skin, compared to the hot steam of Evea’s. To give him time to think, he drank the sour and metallic tasting fluid. 

He made a face, trying to erase the horrid liquid from his mind. “But aren’t those people, the ones you love, a part of you and you them? How can they—“ 

“No one owns your body, Dalish, not even a little bit.” Evea interrupted. Falon looked at her. She was serious as a statue, or a magister perhaps. Her eyes were hard as she bore them into his. Her grip tightened, trying to will him to understand. “If you said no and they continued, it is rape no matter who they are to you.” 

Falon kept his face neutral as he watched her a moment. “Then do slaves not get raped? Do they all consent?” She flinched but kept her gaze steady. 

“Good masters, they ask. You’re supposed to say yes though.” 

“Am I not supposed to say yes to my husband then?” Evea looked at him oddly but didn’t comment. She just got a slight smile before turning serious again. She thought a moment longer before speaking again. 

“Maybe we say yes because we think if we don’t, we’ll be punished. Or maybe we believe it’s a sign of favor. But I guess that we just tell ourselves that we weren’t raped, so it doesn’t hurt as much. We tell ourselves we have a choice, and we can make that choice…” 

“But you don’t and you can’t.” Falon finished. 

They sat in silence for a moment. “I take it, rape is sort of a common thing for you?” She asked gently. He still winced. 

“Let me put it to you this way: Tevinter has been nothing but. The worse part was that place with the cracked bell…” 

“In the Vivazzi Plaza?” Evea looked at him oddly. Falon looked at her confusedly. She giggled slightly before explaining further “The building with all the dancers? The sex house?” 

“Sure…that one. Shemlen have odd dances.” Suddenly Evea gave a big snort as she laughed making Falon eye her oddly. 

“You were a dancer there?” 

Falon narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course, I’m very pretty.” He joked drily. “Plus exotic. And I was a worker. You do a lot more than dance, flat ear.” She stopped laughing at that. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t—“ 

“It’s fine.” He held up a hand. He felt better having a definition to go with the word. Like finally naming the dark shadow that crept along your bed. “Ma serannas, Evea. That is all I wished to know.” 

She nodded, squeezed his hand before she got up. “Well, if you need to talk…I’ll be around. Now get dressed, your clothes are starting to rot.” And then she flitted out his door. He looked to the plain white shirt and sighed. His heart was starting to break open again, his mind no longer occupied. 

Falon worried he might start crying again so he hastily got dressed, wincing at how sore his back was. Like he had been trampled by a herd of halla. From the light filtering through the dirt, it was nearing dusk. He knew he didn’t want to stay in his room. It was crawling with his demons. 

I could make tea…he thought. But then he remembered he wasn’t to eat for a while. A cruel punishment indeed if he couldn’t have tea. He could make Dorian tea though…His stomach released some of its tension at the thought. The smell of herbs might calm him enough to come back…And the shemlen was just a benefactor of Falon’s need for calmness. Nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok phew...that was a tough chapter to write...  
> I borrowed Cole's speaking patterns for the spirit, which was about as much fun as I had in this chapter. 
> 
> This is the last chapter I have prewritten, so they'll be slower now as I do have college stuff to do along with work. But I want to finish this thing! And MAYBE do a second part.


	8. Drunken Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little tell all about what really went down those first four years. Also Falon gets drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the most part any misspellings in this chapter are intentional. Falon's drunk and Tevene isn't his natural language.

Dorian’s body felt like it was going to collapse on him any moment as he trudged up the stairs one last time. He had run around the house (not literally of course, that would be unseemly) looking for his mother, only to find out that she had gone to the Circle’s library. He had then waited, looking around his father’s library for some of the books Alexius had recommended. Adelina had briefly joined him, hiding from her maid. 

Lavellan never did join him. Dorian hoped (for he was not a praying sort of man) the elf was just preoccupied with sweeping or tending the garden or whatever task he was now responsible for. But it was still odd not to be accompanied by the silent elf. 

His mother still had not come back, and probably wouldn’t. She did enjoy her books and studies, so it would be another late night for her. Dorian sighed as he walked to his room after dinner. So inconvenient to have a feeling of friendship with a slave. He mocked himself. 

“Andran’atishan.” Interrupted Dorian’s thoughts. The words were beyond foreign, they sound more like the gibberish Adelina would sometimes start doing. He blinked seeing Falon in his front room, hair a mess of drying bloody red tangles. The stark white of his shirt made him seem frail and sickly. 

Dorian stood there for a moment, not sure if he was just cursed by some Dalish spell or greeted. Falon chuckled, though it had little mirth in it. “It means: enter this place in peace. It’s a greeting.” 

“Oh well, so long as I won’t be turning into a toad anytime soon.” Dorian quipped, shutting the door behind him. “What brings you to my rooms, Falon?” 

“I can't turn you into a toad..."Falon shook his head, apparently not getting the joke. "I brought tea.” The elf motioned to the mix matched tea set on the table in front of the fireplace. Falon seemed small and distant again, hardly looking at Dorian. It was both infuriating and saddening. 

“Any particular reason?” Dorian was still a little worried that the Dalish would end up poisoning him. He now had a reason to at least. Falon finally looked at him oddly as he walked to the couch and sat. 

“I thought perhaps I could cure you of your drinking habit by offering a better and healthier alternative.” 

Dorian snorted, unamused. He didn’t have a drinking habit or problem or whatever you wanted to call it. He just enjoyed spirits. Of both kind. And if he overenjoyed the drinkable kind, that didn’t mean he had a problem. Save for when he made himself sick and passed out only to wake up in some stranger’s home naked and next to a man he didn’t remember. Then it became a problem. 

“I don’t have a drinking habit.” He protested as he motioned for Falon to sit on the couch. The elf took his spot on the end opposite Dorian. 

“No of course not, that’d require you to be aware of it.” 

“My you’ve gotten better at comebacks, Falon.” Dorian noted as he poured himself tea. The elf looked at the tray but didn’t move to make himself some. In fact there was only one cup. 

“I’ve always been good at…retorts. Most of them just don’t work in Tevene…” Dorian chuckled to himself, watching the red-head. 

“I’ll take your word on that.” He took a sip. This time peach was in the earthy taste of tea. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was strange for it to have such a strong taste. “You certainly like fruit apparently.” Dorian commented. 

“We don’t get fruit often. It doesn’t keep well over long periods of time. The shemlen also own the land most fruit trees grow on, so there’s that too.” Falon shrugged, watching the fire. “Can I ask you a question, Peacock?” 

“Why so grim? You aren’t about to confess some dark secret are you? I hate long confessions.” Dorian tried to make him smile. He succeeded in the fact that Falon bit his lips. 

“No. I just wanted to know why I was lashed.” 

Dorian’s gut felt like it got punched and ripped open. He shifted uncomfortably before setting the cup down, lest he end up choking himself. “You still don’t remember?” The elf shook his head. That’s marvelously convenient, to not remember punishments and then have to ask someone who is no good at this sort of things. “Oswin saw your little rough-house therapy session. My father thought you attacked me and my mother talked him out of having you killed.” Dorian just let the words fall out. 

“Oh…” The elf played with his fingers. “Good to know.” 

“Good to know?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. "That wouldn't be how I'd describe it..." 

“It’s nice to fill in the gaps?” Falon looked at him like he didn’t know if he had said it right. “I mean I’m used to memory loss from magebane, but it’s always nice to put something in those blanks.” 

“Used to? How can you be used to memory loss?” 

Falon got the look of a hit puppy. It was adorable but still managed to make Dorian feel guilty. “…That’s a long story, Peacock.” 

“Last I checked, I still had time…” Dorian winced seeing how Falon looked to the side. “If you wish to tell me it, that is. If not, then I have at least twenty books to read before tomorrow.” He tried to jest. 

Silence spread between them as the elf looked around, still fiddling with his fingers. Dorian was about to excuse himself to go to bed, just to avoid even more awkward silence, when the elf spoke up, voice dangerously close to breaking. 

“His name was Kalor.” Falon slowly rose his eyes to Dorian’s confused ones. “My husband. He…he wasn’t from my Clan. He came to us when I was sixteen, said his Clan had been destroyed by shemlen. Now I don’t even know if that is true.” Falon looked back at the fire. 

“I take it you two become…close?” Dorian prompted, as the man lapsed back into pained silence. 

“I fell in love, a stupid childish thing to do. I convinced my grandmother and the elders to let me marry him rather than a woman.” Falon gave a bitter chuckle, his eyes becoming hazy. 

“I remember you saying those with magic are expected to…procreate.” Dorian was treading lightly here. Falon looked at him and nodded. 

“Yes. I was expected to marry a woman and all the fun stuff. But I wanted to bond with Kalor. And I did when I was eighteen and he was twenty. Kalor had always seemed so…caring, protective of me. Most hunters are with the mages of the Clan, but Kalor was different. Hard to describe it.” Falon rubbed the back of his neck. Dorian tried not to cringe. This was going to be a really long confession, wasn’t it? “When we bonded, things changed. He started to keep me from everyone. He got paranoid when I wasn’t at his side for a day.” 

“And that didn’t strike you as odd?” Dorian asked. Sure he had the blessing of looking back and from a third perspective. But you’d think he’d have seen the signs. 

Falon laughed. “I was a love-struck teenager. I didn’t think much of it. Just he wanted to protect to me and was overly enthusiastic about it.” He shrugged. “I was stupid, even when people expressed their concerns, I didn’t listen. Now I’m a slave.” Dorian stood up. This conversation was going to get weighty real quick. He walked to his desk and out of a drawer produced a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“I’d say this conversation needs a drink.” Dorian told the confused elf. 

“I don’t drink alcohol…Moreover I'm not supposed to have anything.” 

“Now’s a fine time to start. And it'll be our little secret.” Dorian took his seat again, popping the cork. “Come now, it’s not strong enough to get you drunk, but has just enough to keep your lips talking.” He poured a glass of the ruby red fluid and handed it to the elf. He looked at it like it was poison…or blood. If he didn’t drink it, it was his loss, Dorian thought as he poured himself a glass and settled against the arm. 

“So how does this relate to being used to drug-induced amnesia?” 

“Drug whata what?” 

“Memory loss caused by a drug.” Dorian had to remember Falon’s Tevene was about as varied as an eight year old’s. He tried to think of his speech patterns when he was eight, and couldn’t recall ever having a limited vocabulary. Ah the privilege of being an Altus. 

“Right.” Falon took a sip and made the most offended face that Dorian had to laugh. “It tastes horrible!” He coughed. 

“Your taste buds will die off with a few more sips.” 

“I’ll pray to Elgar’nan that that is true…” He winced as he took another sip. “So we had been bonded for two years when he asked me to accompany him on a hunting trip. Keepers…we don’t hunt, we hardly leave the camp actually. But Grandmother was busy with a hunter who took ill, and she needed herbs. So I thought I could gather some while I was. And I went with him… 

“Stupidest move I have ever made.” This time when he drank he took a big swill, big enough to make his cheeks puff out. “We, uh, had been trekking for two hours when we came to a clearing. Kalor said we should take a break and offered me his water skin. I should have known something was wrong. The animals were too quiet for such a nice day. But I took the water skin and… 

“It was laced with magebane. I just remember getting really dizzy and lightheaded before I collapsed. Then shemlen started to enter the clearing. At first I thought we were being ambushed and I had taken some poison dart. But then one of the shems laughed, and clapped Kalor on the shoulder.” Falon drained his cup with a hiss as the liquid scorched his throat. He was dangerously close to breaking down in tears again. But the walls he had built to protect himself were crumbling and the words kept flowing like a dam break. Dorian, to his credit, didn’t interrupt and only looked at him with a carefully guarded expression. The subject made him uncomfortable, but what was he going to do? Tell the man he didn’t want to hear this? Falon didn’t want to live it. 

“I can still hear them. _Got another one, Kalor? What does this make now? Six? Seven?_ Two of them got off their horses and started shackling me. Kalor told them to treat me gently, I believe his exact words were: Be careful with him, he is my husband after all. In a tone that said he was amused. The shems laughed and said: I didn’t know you swung that way. _He was the prettiest_ was Kalor’s reply. 

“I don’t recall much after that. Just waking up in a tent with Kalor trying to feed me. I knew there was magebane in the food, so I refused to eat it. That’s when he hit me.” Tears were starting to form in his eyes now. Dorian silently poured him another glass. He was revolted. He pitied Falon, but knew that was the last thing he needed to hear. “Then he apologized, said he was scared that his master would sell me. He said he loved me and wanted his master to keep me. That Tevinter would be a better place for someone like me. 

“In the beginning, I tried to get him to see that it was wrong. Tried to get him to let me go so we could be together…He’d punch me or kick me when I said things like that, force the poison in mouth, withhold food and water. I don’t know how many days we did that cycle. By the time I got to Tevinter, I was under his control entirely.” Falon took another drink with a shrug. 

Dorian’s own wine suddenly tasted bitter, stale and rank. He sat it beside the forgotten tea and clasped his hands around one knee as he contemplated his words. “I find it hard to believe you being under anyone’s control.” 

Falon snorted, looking at his reflection in the glass. “At first I just did as he said because I thought I was to blame for him hitting me. I didn’t want to upset him. I thought that if I showed him how much I loved him, he’d…I don’t know run away with me? Be the Kalor I fell in love with. I doubt Kalor even knew the meaning of love.” 

“And after? I assume at some point you realized he wasn’t who you thought he was?” Dorian’s mind thought of brutal ways to kill the rogue. Which gave him pause. Did he think of Falon as a friend? He supposed if he was willing to listen to his slave story. And if he wanted to shake the elf, to hold him as a tear slipped passed his guard. 

“I did. Much too late. Kalor’s master kept me only because Kalor forfeited his earnings.” He gave a bitter laugh. 

“Ah he was a slave hunter, then.” 

“He was bait. He was to go into places like Alienages and Clans and lure elves out. He was paid a fraction of what they were sold for in the hopes of buying his freedom. Kalor used to love holding that over me. He used that to make me feel guilty, like I owed him for buying me.” Falon snarled at the thought. “But truth be told, for the first four years here, I still don’t know if the shemlen magister was my master or Kalor.” 

He drank his glass again, starting to see the appeal of the fuzzy warmth resting inside his belly. The world was becoming less clear, more hazy like a sunset. Falon snorted a laugh at the feeling. He was flying without moving or so it felt like. 

“Are you going to continue or are we going to sleep?” Dorian quipped as the elf grabbed the bottle from the table. Oh no. The elf gave a dorky grin. 

“I see why you like this stuff, Peacock.” He took another drink. Dorian created a monster. “Still tastes like shit though.” He coughed, as he turned more towards Dorian. His eyes were that predator stare he had when they first met. Shivers ran down Dorian’s spine. “Kalor liked to drink too. That’s when he was the worst. He…was a paranoid drunk…and sober really. 

“If I wasn’t with him, I was…sleeping with some other man…or woman. Even if I was doing something for the magister, I was still a disrespectful little whore.” Falon lost his smile at that. Dorian didn’t like this out-of-it, depressing Falon. “I was his, as he kept reminding me.” Another drink. “And I let him do whatever pleased him.” 

“And you didn’t fight back? You’re a mage—“ 

“That was continually poisoned with magebane. At times I thought I'd lost my magic forever. If I fought back or did something he didn’t like, not only was I beaten, and raped, I was poisoned. My food and water would be withheld till Kalor decided I’d learned my lesson. Then came the sweet Kalor, nursing me back to health, telling me he loved me, and that he was only doing this so I’d be a good slave to the master and not get killed. Eventually I just became numb to it all, the words, the pains.” 

“Charming fellow.” Dorian frowned, grabbing the bottle. “You’ve had enough.” The elf glared but didn’t fight back. From the flush of his cheeks, he was drunk. Dorian wasn’t even sure if Falon knew he had taken the bottle from the dazed look. Dorian shook the glass, finding it completely empty. Maker’s balls, he was drunk with one wine bottle? “I take it you were eventually sold.” Dorian kept his tone neutral. Had he been in Falon’s position, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have roasted the pointy eared demon. 

“Much to Kalor’s fury. I was sold to a whorehouse after the magister burnt my hands and could no longer stand my presence.” Falon’s voice was far off, like he was beginning to get drowsy. Dorian stifled a yawn, hearing a bell somewhere call out midnight. Then he stopped, looking at the elf’s hands. 

“Burnt your hands?” He repeated. He had heard far worse punishments, but still he remembered burning his hand once as a child first learning his spells. He still had the little burn on his thumb, but his entire hand? He cringed. 

“I told you…you that the magister and Kalor didn’t like the harp, yes? They had me learn…that stringed thing…” 

“Violin.” Dorian supplied. 

“Yes, that. I had played the wrong song or maybe the magister…just wanted to burn me. But he stuck my hands in the fireplace, right in the middle of the flames.” Falon looked out the balcony window. 

Dorian felt guilt inside his chest. He loved his homeland, the people in it; he knew there was good here if you got passed all the blood and bodies. He knew, perhaps, only knew the brighter side of Tevinter. And yet, across from him was an elf taken from his home, betrayed, beaten, raped, tortured, and what have you by the one he loved…because he was Tevinter. It made Dorian uncomfortable, facing this side of his home. Made him feel guilty for being an Altus, of doing nothing when he could. 

“I’m…sorry…” was all that came to the normally quick-witted Altus. 

“Don’t be.” Falon turned and gave a breathtaking and very drunk smile. Had Dorian not been feeling guilty, he would have laughed at how drunk the elf became with only one wine. Still his heart stuttered at seeing that smile. “Having my hands burnt was the best thing that happened.” His speech was getting slurred. 

“How can having—“ A finger pressed into his lips, halting his words. Heat ran up Dorian’s neck. 

“Your moustache tickles…” The elf practically giggled to himself. Dorian glared, despite his heart beginning to hammer. “Be quiet and I’ll tell ya.” 

“Please remove your finger from my face…” Dorian spoke against the finger that seemed to enjoy messing up his carefully groomed moustache. The elf gave another snicker before removing his finger, though now he was much closer. Close enough for Dorian to smell the wine on him at least. 

“I got sent to the infirm…infirmurerie and the uh healer woman was a tough old shem. First shemlen I ever liked. But uh, I couldn’t…” he motioned with his hands as he spoke, the mispronunciations making it more comical than it should be. “eat. I couldn’t feed myself. Of course Kalor, Dread Wolf take him and eat his beating heart, came there. I was…scared beyond death. He liked to reinfarce the magster’s punishments. He came with food, poisoned as usual. And the old shem took one look at me and told Kalor to get out.” Falon snickered again. “He got so angry, started callin’ her every thing but human. And she dropped him with one spell.” 

Falon looked at Dorian, his eyes were hazy but bright. Like that a curtain had been drawn and revealed some light still inside. It was beautiful. “She had two men drag his twitchin’ ass out. She told me not to worry, he wouldn’t be coming back. And I just remember crying on her shoulder. That’s when I decided to become…moderately rebellious.” 

“And you started laughing rather than screaming.” Suddenly everything made sense. The elf had been made to feel powerless when in truth he held more power. After all, a slave is only controllable when they are afraid, when they believe you in control. Images of Falon laughing at the Aelianus’s party come to life. With such a simple action, he had destroyed his “masters’” control over both him and themselves. “Smart.” Dorian gave a half-hearted chuckle. 

Falon smiled. “Glad you think so, Peacock.” Then he yawned loudly, like a stretching cat. Dorian caught himself trying not to yawn himself. “I think…the Altus needs his beauty sleep.” He slurred. 

“I think you are right. The Dalish needs to dry out.” He joked as he stood up. _Please let him be able to walk_ Dorian prayed to himself. It took two tries for Falon to get on his feet and stay. Then the red head swayed like grass in the wind as he took his steps to the door. Dorian watched him cautiously. Did he look like that when he was drunk? Maker he hoped not. He looked ridiculous. 

Dorian shook his head. It was just too cruel to let Falon try to find his way back to his room. And then a darker thought crept up his spine, but he shook it off. Dorian intercepted the elf, who stumbled into him. Instinctively Dorian grabbed him by his shoulders as the elf steadied himself using Dorian. 

Falon grinned up at him, turquoise eyes a bewitching beryl color in the firelight. He fought off a blush that still managed to color his cheeks. The elf’s body heat seeped through his clothes as he patted Dorian’s chest with a curious look. 

“You’ve a harder chest than I thought…” Dorian’s mind spun. Was the elf flirting with him? “I mean, I figured you had to have at least some muscle, but not this much…” 

“Are…are you flirting with me? If so you are doing a terrible job at it.” Dorian tried to joke passed the stuttering of his heart. The elf snickered. 

“Dalish don’t flirt. And if even we did, I would do rather do this.” And the elf gave him a very sloppy, very heated kiss. For a moment his mind spun, before he realized he was kissing a drunk slave. That made Dorian pull his head back. 

“You’re drunk, Falon. I think you should go to sleep.” He tried to sound authoritative but his voice was a little breathless. The elf swayed a bit. 

“Not drunk enough that I wouldn’t like sex with a certain magister.” 

“Altus. And no. Go to sleep, you can sleep on the couch. Don’t want you stumbling and breaking your neck.” 

Falon studied him for a moment before giving an adorable version of a glare. Dorian was fighting the urge to laugh, be angry and kiss the damn elf all at the same time. “Is it cause I’m an elf or cause I’m a slave?” 

Well at least he still had some brain functioning. “Because you are a friend and—“ 

“So you pulling that out of your sleeve. Alright, Peacock, keep your moustache to yourself then.” Falon pulled back before Dorian could fully explain. The elf waved him away as he turned around and stumbled to the couch. Dorian felt a slight longing for the elf again, but thought better of it. He would not be that magister, especially when Falon had been used enough for five lifetimes. Not to mention if he didn’t remember anything tomorrow morning or well in the morning then he might just feel violated again, and Dorian didn’t want to give him another bad memory of his home. 

Falon flopped on to the couch and curled up. The Altus sighed to himself. Andraste’s great flaming ass when did he grow a conscience? Dorian went to his room, grabbed a pillow and pulled a sheet from his bed. Having to give up such luxuries, he could see why many magisters never allowed themselves to get to know their slaves. 

Oddly, Falon was already asleep, breathing even and quiet, as Dorian managed to place the pillow under him. Carefully he threw the blanket over the elf’s legs, knowing he wouldn’t be too cold with the fire. Minrathous was renowned for hot summers. 

With his lips tingling from the kiss, Dorian got himself to bed, and hoped Falon hardly remembered that night. 

***** 

Falon’s head pounded. Every tiny sound from the streets below to the noise of drawers opening and closing sent tiny drills through his ears and prodded his brain. A groan slipped out of him. His hands were rough as they rubbed his blistering eyes. 

“Someone has a bad hangover.” Came far too loud to be possible. Falon just groaned in response. Cautiously he cracked open an eye, finding himself still in Dorian’s rooms. On the couch. With a silk pillow and silk sheet. He sat up quickly. His head swam for a moment before he looked around. 

His mind was muddy as he struggled to claw his way back to last night. Like moving through a swamp really. He remembered talking…a lot. Mostly about Kalor. And drinking wine. And kissing Dorian. And…He froze. 

His heart stuttered to a stop as he looked at the human. Dorian smirked, handing him a small vile. “You look how I feel.” He joked as the elf took the glass. 

“Dorian…” 

“Oh no, you never use my name unless it’s serious.” 

“Ir abelas I…am a very talkative and…flirty drunk.” Falon rubbed his eyes again, trying to erase the night. Elgar’nan! Why did he kiss him?! Falon’s mind stumbled for an answer. He had thought about it before, but was never stupid enough to do it. Fenedhis he hated alcohol. 

“Ah…you remember.” Dorian’s voice said he had wished Falon didn’t. Falon ran a hair through his tangled mess of hair, wincing as he pulled through a knot. 

“Yes…And ma serannas for being sober enough not to take me up on the offer.” 

“I told you, I will not be the man who uses you. Besides it is quite common. One look at me and everyone just wants to fall into my bed.” Falon’s hazy mind tried to comprehend the Tevene. 

“Well the bed looks quite soft…But how would they know what your bed looked like by your appearance?” Dorian gave him a strange look. Falon blinked, mind going back through the sentence. “Wait…was that supposed to be dirty?” 

Dorian sighed to himself. “A bit, nevermind. You’d best drink that before anyone comes in.” 

“What is it?” Falon eyed the green liquid warily. 

“Helps with hangovers.” He waited for the elf to quit messing with the vile, sniffing the liquid and actually drink the foul tasting fluid. Falon’s face scrunched up like it had when he first tasted wine. “And Falon.” 

“Hmm?” The elf seemed to be trying to scrape the taste off his tongue with his teeth. 

Dorian tried not to laugh. “I…” He sighed, losing his courage far too easily at the sight of those impossible eyes. “I give you my word, I shall free you…somehow.” 

The elf blinked as those words he didn’t understand. A small and quivering smile lit up his face as he nodded. “Ma serannas, Peacock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I always thought it disappointing how a Dalish Inquisitor seemed to be...not Dalish all the damn time. So I'm going to throw in how I think a Dalish might not get things. Like Merrill (yes I did borrow her dirty line because I just love it.) You'll see more in the future.
> 
> Thanks for reading this incredibly terrible chapter. Happier times ahead...then I get to crush it again.


	9. Sea Sick Shells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pavus's take a trip to Qarinus and Falon is dragged along.

The world rocked beneath him. The sounds of waves drove home the pulsating migraine that enveloped him. Falon’dir groaned loudly, trying to bury his face under his arms on the ship’s floor. The wood smelt of salt and sweat which didn’t help his stomach. 

“What?” Evea’s voice came from above him in a joking tone. “The Dalish get sea sick?” She laughed before Falon threw a kick towards her shins. 

“This is the second…” He stopped to swallow the vomit that rose. “second time I’ve ever been on a boat in my entire life.” And the first time he’d been drugged so heavily he couldn’t remember it. He just remembered being shackled with other slaves. He vaguely remembered someone crying and it might have been him in truth. 

“Well let me see if Mistress Aine has anything. Maybe Oswin knows some old trick. He used to work on ships a lot.” Her footsteps echoed in the wood under his ear as he tried hard to calm the storm in his stomach. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t raise his head, couldn’t move for fear of losing the small amount of food he was given that morning. 

At that particular moment, Falon wished he wasn’t Dorian’s personal slave. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be on this ship headed for Qanrius for the family’s vacation. He’d still be in Minrathous tending some domestic duty of some sort. 

Apparently each mansion had their own set of slaves that tended to it. Only the personal slaves got to travel with their masters. Despite having this “privilege” Falon and Evea were still dosed with magebane for the carriage ride over to the harbor and were confined to a warded part of the ship. 

Falon let out another groan as the ship hit a wave. It was like his whole world got flipped and landed on his stomach. He hated the water. He hated ships. Give him dry land or open skies any day. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Falon.” Dorian’s voice echoed around Falon’s seemingly empty skull. “Choppy seas and suddenly you are down for the count! What happens if we are attacked by pirates or a Qunari dreadnought?” 

“I hope you…” He swallowed loudly. “Can swim, Peacock.” Dorian laughed as his boots sent knives through Falon’s ears. 

“Since this is your second time on a ship, I take it Dalish don’t cross seas much.” 

“Halla don’t keep well on water…Plus what ship would take a Clan?” 

Dorian had to admit the seas were a tad rough as he stumbled to correct his footsteps. The elf was a pitiful sight, curled into a tight ball on the hull’s floor. The magebane probably wasn’t helping. But Dorian couldn’t help but grin at Falon’s haggard appearance. 

“Don’t smile at my misery, Peacock.” The elf glared through red strands before kicking towards him. 

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t look so pathetic and adorable at the same time.” He laughed bending down to try and move him to a sitting position. “Try sitting with your head between your knees.” 

“If I move, I’m going to vomit.” Falon growled, smacking Dorian’s hands. The human laughed and continued to drag the elf up against the wall. He groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as the world rocked again. 

“Mother and Oswin are trying to get some things that might help, till then…” Dorian trailed off as he all but forced Falon’s head to the position he’d learned when he was a boy and got sea sick. “Captain says we’ll arrive in the harbor before the storm hits, but it will still be rough going.” 

Falon moaned. “Don’t tell me that…” Then he grabbed the necklace he now wore and pressed the pendant to his forehead, muttering what Dorian assumed was an elven prayer. 

“Can I assume that you are praying and not cursing us to drown?” 

Falon gave a choked laugh, opening one eye to look at Dorian. “I’m praying to Ghilan’nain to guide us safely to shore and Mythal to protect us from the Fen’Harel, now be quiet.” Dorian chuckled and just watched as the elf muttered long strings of elven, clinging to the necklace like it was his lifeline. When he finally finished, he leaned back and took a shaky breath, sweat gleaming on his forehead. 

“You never did tell me what that necklace was.” Dorian noted. He had bought the necklace few days prior to their trip when Falon had recognized it as the necklace had before coming to Tevinter. It was an owl with its wings outstretched as though gliding in to snatch prey carved from the same silvery wood as the beads with incredible detail. The beads that formed the necklace had little animals carved into them: wolves, hawks, deer, rabbits, all ran about it. 

“It is an owl…” Falon muttered. His heart was calm after praying, but his mind and body were a wreck. He kept thinking they were going to hit a rock and sink to the bottom. And Falon couldn’t swim well enough to survive. He’d never admit it though. While he was accustomed to bathing in streams, rivers, and ponds but those he could easily touch the bottom or had no current. This was open waters. Just from the rock of the boat, Falon knew he’d have a hard time swimming in such waters. 

“I can see that. I do have eyes.” Dorian rolled them for emphasis. “It must have meant a lot if you were willing to almost steal it.” 

“It is mine, shemlen have no right to claim it.” The elf hissed. But then winced, “Ir abelas. My father made it for me…to celebrate me becoming the Keeper’s First.” Falon’s thumb absent rubbed the back of the owl, which was smooth because he had done it so much over the years. “It’s made from my first halla’s horns after she had died. She was very old and very patient.” He laughed at the memory of the old girl. “But she would sometimes get her youth back and hide her harness or take her blanket and run.” 

“I thought you never used harnesses on your halla.” 

“We don’t when ride them. Halani, she pulled my aravel when she was still strong enough. Then she would carry me. She was my first teacher really.” 

“I apologize but how could an animal teach you?” Dorian cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. The elf chuckled though quickly covered his mouth as the ship rolled. Learning from an animal? Such a mad thought! Imagine Dorian being taught by a squirrel! 

Falon waited for the nausea to subside before uncovering his mouth. “There is wisdom in nature, Peacock. An energy. We Keepers learn to tap into that. The Dalish all learn to respect it. Halani taught me patience, the Vir Bor’assan, way of the bow. In order to manipulate nature, I have to become like it.” Falon shrugged, all of that making sense to him. 

“Right, I suppose this is one of those things that makes more sense in elven.” 

Falon grinned and nodded. “You force things to your will. It makes your magic very…cold and dead.” He seemed to be trying to find the right words. “I coax, I ask, and I give. You can never force a halla to do what you want. You must always ask her permission. Just as you expect Adelina to ask you to do something. Thus I do not tell anything to come to life. I ask it, and it complies.” 

Dorian scratched the back of his neck. Their magic training was night and day apparently. He couldn’t understand why you had to ask fire to come to life. The magic came from the mage, that’s what he or she was manipulating. Yet Falon believed he was what? Asking ice to please freeze this man solid? 

“So you…ask your magic to electrocute some bandit?” Dorian scoffed. 

“Those spells are very different from Keeper magic which is very different from healing magic. I said Halani was my first teacher, not my only.” Falon placed a hand on the floor. “I was too impatient and had to learn otherwise lest I lose control of my emotions. My grandmother taught me the rest of Vir Bor’assan, to adapt and what not.” 

Dorian nodded like he understood a lick of what was said. Most he got was that apparently Falon was once an impulsive youth. “How does this relate to your necklace?” He asked merely to try and keep the elf talking instead of focusing on getting sick. 

“You asked me a question, and I went off on a tangent.” Falon smirked as Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“Terribly sorry I distracted you.” Dorian mocked. “So does the figures have any significance aside from being sentimental?” 

“The owl is the symbol of Falon’Din, guide of the dead; it is also messenger of Andruil. My father thought the owl would help guide me as I traversed the Beyond. The beads have various animals, most importantly the wolf. We set up wolves to ward Fen’Harel away. As a mage, I’m at more risk to the Dread Wolf, but I’m also obliged to protect the Clan from him.” 

“You use wolves to ward away a wolf?” Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. Seemed to him that wolves should be a damned creature to the Dalish rather than apparently a holy protector. 

“That’s both a long story and a long explanation. The Emerald Knights of the Dales had wolf guardians. I had one too, plus I turn into a wolf…so my Clan was triple blessed.” Falon chuckled softly. 

“Ah there you are.” Interrupted their conversation. Dorian looked to see his mother and Oswin. “I unfortunately don’t have what I need to create a potion, but Oswin seems to know a few tricks.” 

“Come on lad, fresh air will do you some good.” Oswin walked over to Falon who groaned at the thought of moving. Dorian chuckled and helped pushed the elf to his feet. He wobbled horribly, tensing up with the movement of the ship. “Relax, does no good trying to walk like you were on land.” 

“It also does no good if I topple overboard.” Falon growled as he let Oswin guide him to the upper deck, under Dorian and his mother’s supervision of course, that was the only way for either mage slave to be allowed up there. The crew members sneered at him but he was too busy getting dizzy from the influx of sea salt. 

“The salt’ll clear your head, and little Evea is trying to find some ginger.” Oswin explained leading him to the front of the ship. “Now look at the horizon and stop being as stiff as a plank.” Oswin snorted. 

“I take it you were a sailor or something?” Falon tried really hard to concentrate on the hazy blue far off in the distance. But all he could feel was the rocking of the ship beneath his bare feet. 

“Aye, in my youth. Seen a lot of people get seasick in my time. Even young Master Dorian can’t stand choppy seas.” Dorian made an indignant noise of protest which made his mother chuckle. “But you seem adaptable. You’ll get your sea legs soon enough.” 

***** 

After what seemed like months to Falon, but was really only a few days, the ship docked in Qarnius and they were headed to the Pavus’s summer mansion. It was an extravagant house built from white stone overlooking the ocean with a vineyard directly behind it and a pristine beach not far from the mansion. Falon was just glad to be on solid ground again. 

He thought standing in a moving aravel was torture, sailing was hell. He had actually gotten sick three times before they reached the shore. The crew all laughed about it, but Falon was about ready to turn into a bird and fly far from the liquid torturemaster. Oswin found it funny too, saying he was such a greenie. Dorian said that he’d never be a pirate. Which was fine, if that meant he never had to ride in a ship again. Aine said she’d remember to craft some sleeping potions for the trip back, since it was obvious Falon wasn’t acclimating to the waters. 

“I’ve ridden unruly halla that were a smoother ride than that.” Falon commented laying down on Dorian’s couch again. Dorian had decided for Falon to sleep there as there was no guarantee giving him a roommate or different room would solve his problem. Despite Dorian having the urge to kiss the elf whenever he smiled…or took his shirt off. 

_Maker’s breath, Dorian, you are acting like some hormonal teenager again,_ he chastised himself as the elf stretched luridly on the sofa, shirt open to the cool breeze coming in the airy room from the windows.

“I think I like it here more than in Minrathous.” Falon mutter, looking at the room. White and subtle blues were the predominant colors, with some other sea-esque paints. The molding on the walls had seashells and wave-like designs, matching the seashell motif of the flooring. In all, it was lighter than Minrathous’s bold colors and abundance of peacocks. The peacock feathers only made an appearance in the middle of the seashells. Otherwise it was all sea and wine oriented. 

Dorian snapped himself out of tracing the odd pale red tattoos that peeked out from Falon’s shirt. He wondered briefly what they were, not having gotten a real good look from their first meeting, but quickly decided to change topics. 

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into going down to the ocean. I promised Adelina I’d accompany her on a hunt for seashells.” 

Falon eyed Dorian warily. “Does it involve a boat?” 

“No unless Adelina gets swept away by the current.” 

“Then I’d love to go. Never seen an ocean that color of blue or sand that color of pink.” 

***** 

After waiting for Nadya to dress Adelina in a little bathing suit and a little skirt (and after Dorian donned appropriate robes (though Falon couldn’t fathom how robes would be appropriate in any way save for the face that they were lighter material and had no sleeves)), the four were walking down the beach. 

Falon couldn’t help but feel more a home with nature, actual nature, surrounding him. It smelt too much of salt, and the rolling seaside hills were a far cry from his Vimark mountains, but he’d take it. A smile broke his face as Adelina ran ahead spying something she believed to be important. 

“So, this more your speed?” Dorian asked watching his little sister run from the waters with a loud shrill giggle. Nadya was right there, playing along so he didn’t need to worry about her getting swept off to sea. 

“Speed?” Falon furrowed his eyebrows at the phrase. 

“Is this more what you are used to? Less city and more…” He waved his hand towards the hills. Falon laughed. 

“I live in mountain forests down south, Peacock. It is cold and wet most of the time. The only sea I’ve known is the Waking Sea and I wouldn’t cross it for all the knowledge in the world.” He chuckled. “But I will admit I think this is the only part of Tevinter I like. It is clean and fresh. Nothing is forced and everything is calm.” 

“Well at least you like something about my homeland…” Dorian scoffed. 

“I like quite a few things from Tevinter actually.” Dorian tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest as he looked at the teasing smile on the elf’s face. 

“Dori! Falon! Come look!” Adelina yelled, breaking their gaze. Rather than wait for them, she ran to them. Falon laughed as he bent down to look at what she had in her tiny hands. She had a few shells in there, one that looked to be a mosaic, another that reminded him of pictures of unicorn horns he’d seen in shemlen book once, and another that was a spiral with tiny spikes coming off it. 

“Well, I know they are shells, but that’s as far as I go…” Falon snorted, taking one. 

“That’s an auger shell.” Dorian noted absently. 

“So you apparently know sea shells?” 

“Of course I’m not a peasant. My Mother at one time made me label and organize every shell I found on the beach. If you are going to bring sandy bones into my house, you should at least know their names.” He mimicked his mother’s voice with a roll of his eyes. “Needless to say I stopped bringing home shells.” 

“So what’s the spiked one?” 

“A star shell.” 

“Wow shemlen are as creative as ever…” Falon remarked sarcastically handing the little girl her treasure back. She quickly handed them to Nadya and ran off to find more. The elven woman sighed loudly, following her charge while trying not to drop the little shells. 

“And what would you call them?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen snail shells. These are a lot more colorful.” Dorian snorted at the obvious. Falon stood up. “So your mother would take you shell collecting?” 

“No” Dorian said bluntly. “She’d have a slave take me shell hunting or boat riding while she stayed inside and fanned herself or read a book.” 

“Magisters don’t really spend that much time with their children do they?” Falon thought that said really. He remembered his mother telling him stories as she put him to sleep, his father teaching him how to shoot a bow (before he learned he had magic), even his older siblings played a role in his life. Hell the entire Clan played a role in his life. 

“That’s an understatement.” Dorian scoffed looking at the waters. 

“Ir abelas, Peacock. I find that…depressing.” 

“Well then stop thinking about it.” Dorian quipped. Falon sighed looking elsewhere. He spotted something moving. 

“What’s that?” He pointed to the little thing scuttling across the sands. For a moment, Falon thought it was a very large spider. Mythal’enaste he hoped not. He hated spiders. The thought of them made him flinch and gag a little. 

“Hmm?” Dorian looked. “That’s a crab. Have you never seen a crab before?” 

“Again southern waters, totally different from this.” Falon stalked forward, watching the strange animal. It moved sideways at a quick pace but stopped seeing Falon’s shadow over it. He cocked his head, what a curious little beast. It was brilliant scarlet on its shell that faded to white on its underbelly. Delicately Falon reached out with his magic, touching the creature’s mind. He laid his hand palm up and coaxed it on to it. 

It was barely the size of his palm as it moved between his two hands. It sort of tickled. He laughed watching how it snapped its claws. 

“It’s going to pinch you.” Dorian warned, eyeing the elf oddly. Do all elves have this sort of animal magnetism? Or just Dalish? 

“No it won’t.” Falon said as he turned to him, still holding the creature. 

“Yes it will.” 

“No because I asked him not to.” The elf’s eyes looked at the crustacean with awe, eyes matching the color of the sea. 

“You asked him?” Dorian was sure the elf had been in the sun too long. 

“Yes. You can’t ask animals things?” He cocked an eyebrow as though that was strange. “I mean everyone can ask them, but not like I do I suppose.” 

“I’m going to regret this, but what pray tell are you talking about?” 

“I can…speak? To animals?” Falon winced as though he knew how crazy that sounded and was afraid Dorian was going to laugh or smack him. In truth Dorian had heard of mages with such abilities, such as the elven child who called dragons down on Val Royaeux. “Not like how I speak to you, but with my magic.” 

“Uh-huh.” Dorian was skeptical, only because apparently Falon was not only a shapeshifter (one impossible thing) but he had an animal affinity too (another impossible thing). “Care to elaborate?” 

“Um…” Falon set the crab down gently in the sand and it began to scurry away. “I connect to the animal with my magic and…feel? What they feel? Which is basically their thoughts…I can learn new forms easier that way.” Falon scratched his head as though it didn’t make much sense to him either. “Honestly I can’t explain it. I just do it. Even before I got my magic.” 

Dorian wasn’t sure whether to laugh or ignore the elf. He couldn’t dismiss the fact that Falon seemed to be well trained in his magic and that his magic was a far cry from Dorian’s, but the idea of talking to animals? Or turning into one? That was a lot to swallow. 

“How do you shapeshift exactly? As far as I knew, it was impossible.” Dorian began walking further down the beach. The cool sea air helped him forget for just a moment of his troubles in Minrathous or the twisting of his stomach when he felt Falon’s body heat right next to him. 

“Well it is with that attitude…” Falon laughed. “You can’t be attached to one form, Peacock. And you have to know the animal, how they think, act, feel. I mean I’m still me inside, but there’s different rules in different forms…” 

“Like?” 

“Like…when I’m a wolf. I can’t climb a tree, I have four legs. I can run faster, hear and smell more but my eyes are more limited. Should another wolf come up to me, I have to show my teeth for them to sniff. Things like that. Just like you Tevinters have rules about everything.” 

“You make no sense.” Dorian noted with a chuckle. 

“I know, but there are no words in human tongues to describe it better. All I can say is I become the animal, the animal becomes a part of me so it’s not like I change, only my form. I turn into another me.” 

“I think we should stop trying to discuss this, you are starting to sound like a crazy hedge witch…” 

Falon laughed at that. Then he got an evil smirk that made Dorian look at him oddly. “Ma nuvenin, Peacock.” And then he shoved Dorian into the water with a laugh. Dorian sputtered out the water from his mouth while glaring like a wet cat. He huffed before chasing the elf down the beach and managing to throw him into the sea. Which just lead to the elf pulling Dorian back in. Which lead to a water match that included illegal Mind Blasts and a few Dalish tricks. 

By the time they came back to the house, they were both drenched and Adelina had Nadya’s pockets full with seashells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, phew long break. I've been working on Nothing (which is more popular and less depressing) so I haven't been giving Falon some TLC. But I managed to write the next chapter.
> 
> Technically there is a chapter before this one, but literally nothing happens save for Falon getting his necklace back, which I literally could explain in one sentence in this one. So I cut it and just skipped ahead!
> 
> If some of the dialogue sounds funny (Falon's at least) it is because again he doesn't speak fluent Tevene.


	10. Revas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mix of good and bad news comes out of Qarinus.

“You seem rather acclimated to humans, Falon…” Dorian began. The elf snorted as he lay in perfect bliss on the terrace railings. Dorian was quite afraid he’d fall off and down the sandy colored hillside their mansion sat upon. But he couldn’t complain as the man was shirtless as he sunned himself like a lizard, giving Dorian a not-unwelcome view of his slender muscles. And all his tattoos that battled with scars for supremacy. 

“Was there a point to your statement, Peacock?” Falon mumbled. His long braid hung to the side, coiling on the white stone below. Somehow, the elf was able to string seashells Adelina gave him a few days ago (mostly so she didn’t have to learn all their names) together and weave the strand into his usual braid without breaking one. He said he hardened them with a spell, but Dorian couldn’t begin to understand what spell. Fire would murder them, and ice would make them too brittle. 

Dorian snapped himself out of tracing the faint tattoos on his side. “Just…for a people who avoid humans at all costs, you seem very familiar with human customs…” Dorian had read _The Tale of the Champion_ recently (if only because he ran out of books in his father’s library) and found one of the Champion’s friends was a Dalish. Her odd comments and obvious lack of knowledge of humans when compared to Falon was night and day. 

The elf turned his head lazily to the side to look at Dorian sitting at a table with a book open. It was a lovely day, the perfect amount of wind bringing the smell of the ocean, the sun occasionally being blocked by thin wisps of clouds. It was quiet and peaceful. 

“Well I’m glad you think so.” The elf smirked. 

“Of course you are. How could you not be pleased that I don’t think you a complete savage?” Dorian mocked with an eye roll. The elf snickered. 

“I’ve had a few dealings with shems before and I’ve been in Tevinter for eight years.” He shrugged with a lopsided smile that could make ice melt. “I picked up a few things from traders, but mostly I just mimic humans…plus I realize that you shemlen will never make sense to me.” 

“You mimic humans?” Dorian’s eyebrows rose. 

“Yes.” He bluntly stated as though it weren’t strange. “I don’t need to understand something to mimic it.” 

“Then how would you normally act, assuming you have been mimicking behaviors since I met you?” 

The elf sat up and turned, eyeing him suspiciously. “My personality would still be the same…?” Falon looked confused at the question, making Dorian smirk. 

“Well what wouldn’t be the same?” He probed, marking his spot in his book. Falon fidgeted like the question put slime down his back or something. Dorian took a moment to notice how lanky the man was, and to thank whoever created him. It wasn’t that you could tell he had muscles, not like you could on a Qunari at least, but was that you could sense it. Like the jungle cats, he had lean and thin muscles, ones that could tense at a moment’s notice and relax just as quickly. 

“For one…I’d drop this ugly accent.” Falon muttered, breaking Dorian’s thought train. "It takes too much thought to keep it in place.” Dorian blinked at how the accent he had heard slip through a few times, suddenly broadened. It wasn’t an accent he’d ever heard before; it was neither Ferelden, Orlesian, Marcher, or Nevarran. Or Rivaini or Antivian. The closest thing he could describe it as was a burr. 

“I take it Dalish have their own accent?” Dorian muttered, if only to hear more of the strange tongue. 

“Aye. Comes from not dealing with shems. But it’s hard to understand for some.” 

“I’m curious to know what accent you mimicked to cover…that” Dorian motioned vaguely towards Lavellan, “up.” 

The elf stood up with a grin. “Marcher.” Dorian swore to himself as the elf had the audacity of stretching like a lazy cat in front of him. He instead focused on filling his tea cup. “Another thing that’d be different would be I wouldn’t be speaking any tongue you’d know.” 

“Oh?” Dorian provided when the elf wouldn’t continue. 

“My clan speaks elven exclusively lest we are dealing with shems. We replace some words with the Trade tongue because they are lost. The traders of the clan can speak in trade better than me, but I speak it better than the hunters.” Falon sauntered over to Dorian’s table, shaded by a cypress tree growing in the garden below. Without a care in the world, and with what could only be described as elven grace (or perhaps lazy grace), he spun the chair in front of Dorian around and sat, straddling the back. 

“You seem to speak it just fine…” Dorian courteously pushed the tray of overly sugary treats towards the elf. 

Falon laughed, resting his chin on his hands. “Really? Because there are times when you speak it and I have no clue what you just said, like accli…acclimated” Falon paused to mull that word over “Or like when I read books, there are just words I don’t know.” 

“Truly? And you never ask?” Dorian was surprised to say the least. Falon always seemed so intelligible when it came to conversations. But then he began to note certain times where language failed him or he said something obscure and odd. Falon shook his head as he bit into a cookie. “I suppose that explains why some of your sayings aren’t quite right.” 

“My Tevene’s worse still.” Dorian laughed this time. 

“So I’ve noticed.” 

“In my defense, I’ve only lived here for eight years and no one’s been translating for me. The fact that I can have conversations in Tevene is pretty good to me.” The elf smiled. 

“You have the basics at least.” Dorian muttered sarcastically. “Any other things you find disastrously odd?” 

“That game you and Felix play. The one with the black and white boxes?” Falon used his hands to further describe it with a puzzled look. 

“Chess?” Dorian supplied with an amused smile. 

“Sure. What is the point of it but to waste time that doesn’t need to be wasted?” 

Dorian wasn’t sure if the man was serious or not. He sounded confused but it was odd to see such an emotion on the elf’s face. Well except when the conversations became faster in Tevene, then he had an almost identical look of confusion. “It’s a strategy game. Military commanders use it to practice…” Dorian waved his hand as the word eluded him, “well commanding and responding to enemy advances.” 

“But you aren’t a military commander. It serves no function to you.” 

“It’s a game. You play it for fun. Do Dalish not have games?” Dorian couldn’t imagine not having been taught how to play chess or Wicked Grace or have any form of entertainment. 

“Why play a game on a piece of wood when you could play hide-and-go seek in a forest or tag or herd the halla or sew or anything else that’s practical and has use?” Dorian turned that over in his head. “So your kind of games have a practical use?” He just couldn’t see how tag which Adelina loved to play, could be practical. 

Falon looked at him like he had said something incredibly stupid. “Hide-and-go-seek is like hunting. You track your prey through the woods into their hidden places. Tag is for endurance and agility. If you are too slow, you get caught. Animals would flee before you could draw an arrow. Herding Halla is entertaining to watch as the len try to outsmart the halla.” Falon smiled largely at some memory he had. “Fun doesn’t have to be pointless.” 

“So asking you to a game of Wicked Grace is a bad idea then?” Dorian quipped. 

“Is that the game with the cards? The one that you play in taverns, winning money only to buy more drinks and another game which you lose until you have no more money and tavern keep kicks you out?” Dorian tried to fight a blush at how well the man knew him. And that he didn’t ever remember Falon being there. 

“That’s the one.” 

“I don’t understand if money is so important to shemlen, why do you throw it away so easily?” 

“Dalish don’t have money?” Dorian asked warily. 

“We have occasion to trade with shems so we have your money, but we don’t really use ourselves.” 

“How in the great flaming world do you not use money for trade?” He thought for a moment about Minrathous’s market using sheep skins instead of actual gold and silver. It was an amusing thought. 

“We ask for them? Or trade other things?” Falon cocked an eyebrow like it was a simple answer. 

“Like?” 

“Like…say I wanted a bow, I would ask the craftmaster for one. Grandfather would make me collect the items he needed, or perhaps help craft the bow or do some other labor like patch the sails of his aravel in return for the bow.” 

“You just ask and get some task to complete and you’ve got yourself a trade?” Dorian tried to imagine Minrathous again. _Hello my good ser, what can I get for you today? **Ah yes, I was looking for a dress for my daughter’s engagement.** Well, I think I have just what you need. But you’ll have to fetch the fabric and do the stitching. Also I have a leaky roof, so if you could patch that, Magister, I’ll give you the dress._ That’ll go over well. Still picturing a magister having to do menial labor was funny. 

“Not always, no. Inside the Clan, usually yes. But Clans trade with other Clans. Master Ilen of the Sabre Clan makes some of the best bows. Master Varathorn crafts fine ironbark weapons and armors. My Grandfather is perhaps the oldest of the craftsmen so many trade for his wares.” 

“What do you trade? I want a bow, here’s my child?” Dorian quipped. Falon furrowed his eyebrows like the thought frightened him. 

“Mythal’enaste no! We give recompense for our spouses should they come from another clan, but we’d never trade a child for a bow.” Falon shook his head, expelling such thoughts from his mind. He took another cookie, his fifth. 

“You’re going to make yourself sick.” Dorian noted absently. 

“I haven’t died yet.” He countered with a wicked smile. Dorian chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He waited for the elf to devour the sweet before asking again. “So what would you trade for a bow from another Clan?” 

“I’ve seen hunters trade pelts, knives, food, and cloth for such things. Things the Clan might need. Many Clans trade with mine, for we are…better at acquiring items from shemlen markets. But only a select few undertake such a task. I’ve never had to buy a thing in my life.” He shrugged. 

“Ever?” Dorian asked bewildered. Never to have had money? Or the need to have money? While he could see the freedom of it, he also saw flaws. What if they didn’t have anything to trade? Would everyone share their worn blankets? How would they get new things? Of course he was missing the fact that Dalish created most of what they had. 

“Ever. I was the First, I was not to deal with shems unless they threatened my clan.” 

“So how did you get the books?” 

“I asked for them. My brother said he would try to get me some, and he did. I cleaned his kills for a week, till his wife got her health back.” He shrugged. “On occasion we just give things. Like if I’m in need of a warmer coat? Someone might make me one and give it without need for anything in return.” 

“No ulterior motives? No gutting animals or frolicking in the forests?” Dorian quipped. 

“Is that how it is in Tevinter? Families give gifts and expect something in return?” Falon gave the strangest look, one that was almost like pity. “More to the point, we can’t frolic in forests…The trees might get jealous and stomp on us.” 

Dorian eyed the elf, seeing if he was lying. But the innocent manner in which he said it, told Dorian there was no way he could be making it up. Or he was really good at pulling human’s legs. “Uh…huh…So Dalish share _everything_? What a mad idea.” 

Falon cocked an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting something dirty?” 

“What? No.” Dorian stammered, caught completely off-guard. Maker’s breath this side of Falon was odd and naïve. It made him wonder how much of the Falon he knew was merely mimicry. The elf nodded as though relieved. 

“Good because it sounded like you were suggesting we share our spouses or something…Which could be true, but mostly it’s false.” 

“What?” 

“I mean some couples might share each other…but most of us don’t after we’re bonded.” Falon looked at him like he wasn’t sure he said that right. Dorian decided not to even comment on it. He instead looked at the sun starting to dip below the horizon. He sighed. 

“We best be heading in before the bugs devour you.” He joked as he stood up and collected his book. Falon gathered his tea things. He’d probably pocket the uneaten sweets for later. 

“Bugs don’t eat elves, silly Peacock.” 

“They do when the elf smells like cookies.” Dorian smiled as a sheepish grin crept over the elf’s face. “And Falon? Do try to be more yourself, I’d hate to mistake you for a pointy eared human anytime soon.” 

“Ma nuvenin, Peacock.” 

***** 

Much to everyone’s surprise, Falon actually followed Dorian’s request for once. The burr accent stayed, and he began to ask questions when human behavior became odd. As it turned out, Dalish were apparently known for being long-winded and blunt all in one go. They could be both eloquent and obscure, as well as direct and obvious. Questions were mostly blunt, even ones that should not be asked in mixed company. But explanations were long and sometimes odd. 

And humans were a mystery all their own to him. 

But despite the new quirks, Falon was still Falon. Proud, stubborn (evident in the fact he would not budge on many topics), quiet in crowds, but talkative to Dorian, all these things and more stayed the same. He just let the gaps in his knowledge show more. 

Even so, Dorian found himself respecting the elf. Which was odd. He couldn’t remember ever respecting someone with pointed ears before. But Falon was quite a capable mage, despite having only a fraction of the teaching Dorian had, which he could respect. Not that he wanted to try Falon’s type of magic anytime soon. 

What was even odder was Dorian felt a sort of friendship between them. One he was frightened about losing. That was the oddest thing to arrive out of this trip to Qanirus. Dorian found himself becoming hopelessly attracted to the elf. He would never sleep with him…while he was a slave…maybe not even if he wasn’t a slave. But thinking about it was another animal entirely. 

It didn’t help that the elf was always within touching distance when he saw him and preferred to go shirtless in the hot summer weather. 

Dorian sighed to himself as he walked to his rooms. He knew he shouldn’t get attached. He had promised to free Falon after all. So he started to think he should do it sooner rather than later. Later might be dangerous. He might get too attached to let him go…which was unfair to both parties. Not that Dorian knew Falon would reciprocate any such affections but… 

He wasn’t really paying attention to much in particular until a soft melody graced his ears. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, pinpointing the ghostly music to his room. Cautiously he opened the door. 

Falon sat on the balcony, his fingers effortlessly plucking the strings of a harp. It was a tune Dorian had not heard before, or perhaps wasn’t even a song but just the elf making the instrument sing. He remembered how Falon had told him of Kalor, of how he corrupted music for him. Yet the elf smiled as he noticed Dorian standing slack-jawed. 

“Well, don’t just stand there, Peacock.” Falon joked, motioning him forward quickly while his left hand was not needed. Dorian glanced out in the hall before stepping inside and closing the door. Quietly as he could he walked closer, the hum of the harp seemingly natural. 

“What…where did you find a harp?” Dorian stuttered. He was amazed at how easily the elf’s spindly fingers plucked the thin strings. All without ever looking at what he was doing. Indeed, Falon had closed his eyes as Dorian approached, as though entranced by the melody, the instrument possessing him. 

“I asked your mamae if you had any instruments here. Evea showed me.” 

Dorian perched himself on the arm of his couch, watching the elf for a moment. “And what possessed you to play?” He couldn’t help but smile. Pure joy came from the harp player, a great calmness. 

Falon slowly opened his eyes. “Here it is so peaceful, I can close my eyes and think I am not far from my clan. I am home.” And then a mischievous smile came over him. “And I decided to reclaim something that was taken from me.” 

“Good to hear.” Dorian listened for a few more minutes quietly. The night sky beyond the elf was a perfect backdrop against the fireplace’s glow illuminating the elf. He felt his heart clench as his mind returned to its earlier thoughts. “Falon?” 

“Hmmm?” The elf returned to closing his eyes and just listening. It was like he was hearing the notes and then playing them. Perhaps he was. Dorian wouldn’t put it passed Dalish magic. 

“I think you should return to your clan.” Dorian winced at the sudden out of key twang that the harp made. Falon’s hands were frozen in place as he stared bewildered. That sour note hung in the air. 

“I don’t understand…” Falon mumbled, narrowing his eyes as though searching for the joke in Dorian’s face. But it was emotionless, set jaw and everything. It hurt a bit saying the words, but they both needed to be set free. 

“I’m…giving you your freedom.” Dorian forced out. He watched as the confusion turned into disbelief and finally into sheer joy. The elf opened his mouth but the words seemed to be caught as he stood up hastily. Quicker than Dorian could react, Falon grabbed his face with both hands and crashed their lips together. For a moment, Dorian’s brain stalled, unable to comprehend anything passed the lips moving against his. 

Dorian quickly regained himself and pulled back, with a frown. Falon didn’t seem to notice. He could feel the elf’s pulse fast in his hands, feel his breath still against his skin. All of which did nothing to calm his own speeding heart and twisting stomach. 

“Ma serannas, lethallin.” Falon whispered. _Stop it you_ , Dorian growled in his head. Rather quickly Dorian took ahold of the hands still holding him in place and pushed them away. The elf’s face then knitted in confusion again. “Did I offend you?” 

“No.” Dorian’s voice was ice as he looked to the fire. 

“Did I step on some shemlen custom?” Falon leaned so he was in Dorian’s line of sight again. Worry was in his eyes, in equal parts with happiness and perhaps a dash of lust. Or Dorian was just wishing it was there… 

“No.” Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, trying to give a stern look. Falon snickered at his attempt. 

“Then what’s the matter? Did you not want me to kiss you?” 

“Fasta vas.” He muttered under his breath. “No…yes…” Dorian’s brain was running around in circles, unable to form a coherent thought let alone say the right things. The elf snorted in amusement as he watched Dorian fight with himself. He even let Dorian slide away and begin pacing. 

“Well which is it?” 

Dorian stopped and looked at him, anger and despair on his face. “I told you I will not be the magister who uses you. I said you are free, so go fly home or whatever you wish to do.” 

“Exactly, I am free. I chose to kiss you. And if I could truly do what I wish to, we wouldn’t be talking.” Dorian heart stopped and his cheeks flared. “It was a kiss, Dorian. Freely given. And it’s not like we’re married now…are we?” Falon thought a moment. 

“No, thank the Maker.” Dorian glared at the corner of his room. 

“Then what’s the matter? Most people just assume I’m your…para…para…” The elf stuttered before shaking his head fiercely, “sex slave anyways.” 

Dorian snapped his head back to Falon, glaring. “Precisely so. I will not use you as they think I do.” He hissed. Falon looked like he was either going to strangle him or laugh at him. The elf thought a moment. 

“If they think you do it, what’s the difference?” 

“The difference is _I_ know I didn’t.” Dorian snapped before the elf could finish his last word. The elf looked like he had been struck. He returned his glare in full. Then he looked away, setting his jaw. 

“Fine, ir abelas, Peacock.” He bowed mockingly as he said it. Dorian felt his stomach coiling tighter as the elf straightened. He was just like when they had first met, closed off and far away. He wanted to tell him how he wanted to kiss him again, and again. To let him do what he wished. But his throat closed around the words. 

And then his mother entered, destroying any chance Dorian might have had to explain. He thought Falon was shutting down because he felt rejected or perhaps he was merely offended. Perhaps kissing was some Dalish custom for thanking someone. He didn’t know. Now he probably never would. 

“Falon…” His mother’s voice cracked. Both of them looked to her in surprise. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her face pale and her cheeks held tear streaks. She cleared her throat, holding a letter tightly in her hand. “Falon could you give me a moment with my son?” The elf’s eyes softened as he nodded and slipped out the door. 

***** 

Evea was out in the hall, she equally upset as her mistress. She shook as she looked up at him. Falon stood next to her silently. His heart was wounded, or perhaps that was just his pride. Whatever it was, it ached. But a Keeper was meant to push aside personal feelings and look to everyone else. So he took a deep breath, steadying himself. 

“What is wrong, flat-ear?” He whispered. He wasn’t sure if touching her would be appropriate, so he settled for standing so their arms brushed. Evea made a choking noise, and wiped at her face. He kept quiet, letting her compose herself. 

“Alexius’s wife and son were attacked by darkspawn. Felix…he…he’s got the Blight.” She spat it out. Falon’s stomach dropped. He thought of how he had felt when learning that his cousin Mahariel had been sickened with the same disease. Felix and he may not be kin but Felix was a part of the Pavus’s Clan. And that made Falon wrap his arm around Evea and let her cry into his chest. 

He hummed an old elven song as he rubbed her back softly. He sent a prayer to the Creators to let Felix feel no pain, and to pass peacefully into his god’s embrace. Falon heard noise come from Dorian’s room, and knew how the man would react to such news. 

He knew Felix and Dorian weren’t _together_ , though there were some rumors that they were, but still the two were Clan it seemed. Like he and Lerian. Falon thought on how he would react to learning Lerian had been Blighted. He would fall apart, all of the Clan would. They would mourn and pray for it to be quick. 

Dorian would drink. Falon knew that without a doubt. He frowned down the hallway as Evea’s cries turned to sobs. It shouldn’t matter to him anymore what the man did. He was no longer his master. Falon was free. But his heart knew different. 

Still Falon protested against his heart, for once. He was grateful for Dorian’s friendship, but why should Falon care if the idiotic human drank himself into a stupor? He was a grown man, not in need of constant supervision. Falon could go home, see his family, the actual people who needed him. Let someone else watch the shemlen. That idiotic and handsome shemlen. 

His stomach clenched tightly as he thought about just leaving then. His mind was made up. Dorian did not need him. His Clan did. But to quell the ache in his chest, he thought to offer condolences before leaving. Evea pulled away at hearing the door open. She hastily wiped her tears away as her mistress walked down the hallway. Evea smiled at him before following. 

Falon took another deep breath, knowing should he walk through that door he’d be in the middle of a firestorm. But he knew it would be rude to just leave. However, it would be harder to just leave seeing the man distraught. 

He shoved his thoughts away and walked through the open door. He paused, looking at Dorian’s back. He was leaning on the banister of the balcony, the harp Falon was playing earlier beside him like a haunted thing. Falon swallowed. 

“Dorian?” he moved forward. The Altus barely turned his head towards his voice. 

“You haven’t left yet?” Falon bit his tongue. The voice was no more than a dead whisper compared to Dorian’s usual cadence. It was raw, barely on the edge of tears, and more defeated than Falon had seen him before. 

“I wished to…” Falon stopped. Wished to what? Offer his condolences? That sounded standoffish and cold. He searched the floorboards for an answer before walking to stand beside his former master. “Evea told me what happened.” Dorian made some noise to show he heard him. “I know it is not much, but ir abelas, lethallin. I shall pray he passes into the Beyond peacefully and safely.” Falon kept his eyes focused ahead of him, towards the south where familiar hills would meet the sky and welcome him home. 

“I doubt your gods would care about a human.” Dorian grumbled. 

“Felix…is unlike most shemlens I’ve met. If any shemlen could charm the Creators into blessing him, it’d be him.” Falon smiled sadly, still not looking at Dorian. If he did, if he saw the tears and the hopelessness, he wasn’t sure he could leave. “I am glad to have made two friends here, and one of them was him.” 

“You should go, Falon.” Dorian sighed. “Long way to go and all that.” 

Falon glanced to the side. “Is that what you wish me to do?” Dorian snorted. 

“You seem unfamiliar with the concept of freedom. I don’t matter anymore. My wishes are no longer your concern.” 

“You will always matter, lethallin. But I suppose you are right.” Falon sighed. He wanted to hold the man who seemed to have broken into a million pieces in a matter of five minutes. Falon knew how it felt to feel abandoned, to be shattered. It was hard to rearrange the pieces so they’d fit. Even harder when you did not have a friend or parent or lover to help you. But he could tell by the rigidness of the man beside him (who practically oozed ‘leave me alone’) he was not welcome there. 

“Promise me one thing, Peacock.” Falon turned to Dorian finally. He steeled himself as he saw anger, despair, and grief in equal measure across his face. How he wished to grab him and never let go until Dorian was Dorian again. “Don’t drink yourself to death.” Dorian snorted. 

“I’m not going to make such a promise to an elf I will never see again.” Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“Never is a long time, lethallin.” Falon, careful of the harp between them, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “But honestly, losing the only two decent mages in all of Tevinter would be a tragedy Thedas is not ready to have.” 

The Altus rolled his eyes again, “Leave, Falon. I do hate long goodbyes.” Falon kept his hand on his shoulder till the man turned to him. When he did, he smiled softly, the smile he had never thought to do again. 

Then slowly he pulled his magic around himself, forced it into his very core. He thought of the wind and becoming lighter than it. He thought of clouds and touching them once more. He thought of freedom and turned into a raven. 

In a flutter of wings, feathers brushing against Dorian’s cheek, Falon flew to the south, finally free. 

Or so he thought. 

***** 

For the first hour or so he was full of pure bliss. Falon flew higher and faster than he had before. He touched the low hanging clouds around some of the mountains. He let out whoops of joy, or caws of joy as it were. He twisted and circled, happy to be free once more. 

He didn’t think about what he just left behind, who he left behind. All he could think of was home. He was finally heading home. That was all he thought about as the ground below changed. 

Flying was less tiring than walking, and far quicker. In little more than an hour and a half, Falon was in the Vinmark Mountain Range. He had forgotten just how quick himself, but remembered when he perched upon a pine tree. His clan should be somewhere near Ostwick or maybe Ansburg. Probably closer to Ansburg as Wycome would be their next stop. 

Falon looked around him for a moment. It was like the forest sang to him for the first time. He heard wolf pups somewhere in the distance. Little fennecs ran about searching for food as their mother supervised. Other birds joined him in the trees, making their own song. The wind ruffled his feather pleasantly. 

One reason he loved his raven form was their speed. The other was it was an intelligent bird. He had chosen the bird as his second shift form after a raven dumped snow upon his head before producing a laugh-like caw and flying away. They were the only bird he knew that would or could prank other beings. 

He gave his own happy squawk. He could sense what they were saying. The sparrow, perched far from Falon, said it would rain soon, or so the hawk claimed. The hawk also said he had seen the clouds coming off the mountains as he searched for food. Below a fennec mother sniffed the air and said it smelt like rain. Deshanna always said he was truly gifted with animals, she didn’t know how right she was. 

Falon perched there, listening to the different birds singing and talking. But his mind drifted. He had made excellent time. From what he gathered, he was near Starkhaven. If he left soon, he could out run the storm. He could also maybe go back to Qarinus before dawn. 

That thought crept into his skull without Falon even knowing it. His happiness suddenly turned into a guilty feeling. He had just left Dorian. When the man needed someone the most, Falon left him. For once in Falon’s life, he was selfish. He had thought of his own needs before someone else. 

And damn if he didn’t feel like an ass because of it. 

He sighed internally, the chattering disappearing into the back of his mind. Falon remembered Dorian sitting beside him quietly as Falon told him of Kalor. He remembered Dorian allowing him to stay in his room after he had prevented him from being raped. The Altus had even told him the word in Trade tongue; he said the word Falon did not know, and that one word made him feel okay somehow. It was no longer just a matter of ‘I didn’t like it’, it had a name. 

Dorian had been there for him. And Falon had just left him. The Creators must have had a sense of humor when they made him. His heart was far too big, too open for his own good. He wasn’t actually considering going back into slavery, was he? No, he wouldn’t be a slave again. 

That thought pushed him off his branch and into the air. He got above the treetops and headed east towards Ansburg, hoping to pick up some sign of his clan. But the cool mountain air between his feathers did not clear his head. 

He wanted to see that damnable smile again, hear that laugh. Falon had called him lethallin, one of his Clan. He had meant it too. He had meant the kiss too, but that seemed far away. 

As Falon soared, he ran through every reason why he shouldn’t go back. Dorian told him to go. He was free. He could see his family again. He’d see Nehnan and Sula’sa if they stayed with the clan. He could hold his baby sisters and baby brother again. He could continue his training. He’d be a slave again. He had every reason to stay with his clan. And only a few not to. 

If Dorian had been a part of his Clan, Falon knew he wouldn’t even be debating with himself. He’d turn around and go to him in a heartbeat. As a Keeper, it was his duty to ensure all was well with all of the clan. He could never abandon one of them. Moreover, it was his duty to keep them from doing stupid things. And right about now Dorian would be drinking, he knew. 

_Dirthara-ma fenedhis lasa venhedis vishante kaffas!_ Falon cursed in his head, Tevene slipping in with the elven easily. As he scanned the landscape below him, he knew he wasn’t going to stay. If he could, he would at least leave a message for his clan. If not, he might never see them again. But what was that Tevene saying? _Na via lerno Victoria_ : Only the living know victory? Or maybe _festis bei umo canavarum_ : You’ll be the death of me, would be more appropriate at the moment.

Falon began to lower himself, searching rather frantically for some sign of his clan. He had to find them or leave before the storm boxed him in and he’d be forced to fly the long way back to Qarinus. His heart pounded from hope and exertion. They shouldn’t be far from Ansburg’s border. Or had they already started towards Wycome? Such thoughts panicked him. 

He just wanted to tell them he was okay and that he was going to find them again…just not right now it seemed. 

Just as his hopes started to die away and he began banking back to the north, he caught sight of a white blur in the trees. He flew in closer, mindful of the branches. He perched himself upon a lofty bough and watched for that white streak to show itself again. 

Within minutes, a halla bound through the forest. Falon watched as she darted beneath his tree. He looked in the direction she came from, spying flashes of metal. Halla did not roam this far north. Was this one separated from its Clan and being hunted by shemlen? He wondered briefly before risking flying closer to the flashes of metal. At best he scared the shit out of shemlen hunters. At worst, he found his Clan. 

The beings were moving so quietly he had trouble discerning where they were exactly. But hopping from branch to branch, Falon found a spot that allowed him to get a good look at the hunters. They were human. But there was another flash that was following them. This one was green and from the raven’s eye he could tell it was no shem. It was far too quiet, not making even one sound as it slipped into the shadows once more and disappeared entirely. 

This shall be interesting, Falon thought with a smirk. He got a devious idea, having a feeling of who was trailing the humans. He gave a loud caw as his took off from his perch, startling the humans. He banked to the left, turning around. His wings flapped effortlessly, stronger than ever. Never once did they falter as he shadowed the halla from the air. 

With little effort, he reached out with his magic. It meant pulling some away from his body, so he chose to allow his eyes to return to normal for a moment. His magic brushed her mind. She was scared and panicked. A loud noise then she ran, bounding over the roots with loud smelly things behind her. 

_Shhh, lethallan, I can help you_ he told the halla. Her ears flickered back as she skidded to a stop. She turned her head around, searching for him. Falon let out a calm squawk making her look at him as he perched upon a branch. She snuffed the air towards him. 

It looks like a raven, smells like one. But she felt magic in its feathers, something familiar in its song. Falon beat his wings a few times to cool them off. The halla shifted on her feet as Falon asked her to stay there for him. She didn’t like the idea of trusting a raven, the bird that loved to dump snow on her in the winter or to pluck her tail and fly away. But she stayed, if only because her legs were tired of running. 

Falon created a barrier over her as he heard the humans approaching. He heard the twang of a bow, the arrow shooting forward. It shattered against the barrier. Before they could knock another arrow, Falon flew from his perch in a wide circle, coming back over top the halla. 

He let his magic out as he crested the halla. Falon landed with much grace, a flurry of blood red feathers and magic smoke. His braid swung behind him, seashells clinking in the night. Someone cursed loudly, another let out a cry. He vaguely heard someone yell ‘kill it, kill it’ but he was already casting his spell. 

Here he could feel the roots beneath his feet. He could hear the trees’ heartbeats. With much less effort than he had remembered, he bade the roots twist around their ankles. The forest came alive. With little more than a gesture, Falon had their legs trapped. He felt them try to hack away at the thick bark. With a frown, he restrained their hands too. 

An arrow flew from the right. It embedded itself into one man’s eye. He fell limp. Two more ricocheted off each other and into the arms of the two remaining hunters. Falon flicked his wrist and threw both of them into the trunks of trees. Their heads cracked loudly. Or perhaps that was their necks. Either way, he no longer felt their thrashing through the roots around his own feet. 

He let out a soft breath, thanking the trees as he withdrew his magic. They returned to their original places. Falon hoped they were pleased for having defended the halla. Who nudged Falon’s bare back. Her muzzle was soft and tickled, not unlike Dorian’s moustache. He laughed and turned around. 

“You are welcome, lethallan.” He stroked her smooth neck. He felt the other hunter watching him from the shadows. “Tell me have you seen Clan Lavellan by chance?” He asked the halla, but loudly enough for the hunter to hear him. “They are my Clan you see, and I have been separated from them for so very long…” 

“Do you really think a halla would answer you?” came a familiar voice in elven. Falon smiled at the halla, scratching behind her horns. He did not turn around as the other approached. It felt wrong to let someone near his back, but that was from years of slavery. 

“Of course, lethallin. She’s smarter than you, isn’t she?” Falon joked. 

“You wound my pride.” A strong hand clasped Falon’s shoulder. He winced slightly before forcing himself to relax. Slowly he turned to the man, one hand still on the halla. “Andaran atish’an, lethallin.” The man smiled, eyes shining in the night. 

“Aneth era, Deyrion.” Falon greeted. For once, he felt calm. He was home. The warmth of that thought spread through him quicker than the Blight had hit Ferelden. His stomach uncoiled as Deyrion pulled him into a big hug. He still smelt of leather and forests. Falon didn’t even know he missed that smell until he felt tears going down his cheeks. 

“It has been too long, little brother.” His elder brother pulled back and looked him over. He frowned at the scars on his body, hands gripping his shoulder tighter. “Mythal’enaste what happened to you?” 

“I, uh…it’s a long story, brother.” Falon looked to the side. Deyrion studied him for a moment longer before releasing him and looking at the halla. 

“It better be a damn good one too. Eight years, Falon, eight years without one trace of you or Kalor.” Falon still winced at his name. “Do you know how hard it was on the Clan to have to pick up and leave without finding you?” 

Falon looked down at his bare feet. His stomach knotted again. They deserved an answer, for him to stay long enough to give them it in all its gory details. But he didn’t have time. Every minute he wasted, that storm was bearing down on them. And Dorian was getting drunker if possible. 

“I know, brother. It wasn’t by my choice that I left.” Falon looked up into his brother’s green eyes. He steeled himself. He drew on his training as a Keeper to help him through this. He had just found home again. And he was going to leave it all behind for a human. Creators have mercy on his soul. “I know you want the whole story, and you’ll have it. All of the Clan will have it. But not tonight.” 

“What do you—“ Falon held up a hand to stop him. 

“I can’t stay. Not yet at least. There’s something I need to do before I can come back to the Clan. But I want you to tell them that I will come back and that I will be safe…sort of.” Falon stepped away from the two. Deyrion, who looked so much like their father with pitch black hair he kept short and skin tanned from long days in the sun, watched Falon warily. He looked as though he were conflicted about letting him leave. 

“At least tell me where you are going in such a rush that you could not tell the Clan this yourself.” 

“Back to Tevinter. A…friend there needs me more than the Clan right now.” Falon held his breath as horror overcame his brother’s face. 

“Tevinter? Are you insane?” Deyrion took a hold of Falon’s arm, as though to never let go. He knew his brother was worried, that he was scared. And possibly a little angry Falon was choosing some ‘Vinter over the Clan. 

“I’ve survived it for eight years, haven’t I? I should be fine, don’t worry.” Gently Falon released himself from the vise grip. He smiled sweetly at Deyrion, who was obviously trying to understand all this. “My friend is a good sort there and he lost a member of his Clan today or will lose one soon at the very least. He needs me and after all he has done for me, I think it is only right that I help him.” 

“Fenedhis lasa, Falon. You’ll be a slave.” Deyrion’s voice betrayed his raw emotion. Falon knew there would be tears forming in his eyes. He wiped his own cheeks, the tears never stopping. 

“Technically I _am_ a slave. Or was. My friend freed me.” 

“Well then that should be that.” 

“No. I’m going to Tevinter, this time under my own free will because there’s an idiot there who definitely needs a Keeper.” Falon began to back away. Deyrion stayed, keeping a hand on the halla. His brother lowered his head in thought. 

“I can’t make you change your mind, da’vhenen. But promise me you will come back to us in one piece and soon.” Falon nodded as his tears stopped. His brother took on a stern look. “I give you two months before I start for Tevinter to drag your ass back here. That’s a promise, lethallin.” 

Falon was about to protest, but his brother’s glare told him there was no negotiating these terms. And he had little doubt Deyrion, Cyril, Valyne, and their parents would try to raise Tevinter. He doubted they’d succeed, but they would try. 

“Alright. Tell Grandmother I will try to contact her before we set out. And tell everyone I miss them beyond all words.” Deyrion nodded. He watched quietly as Falon pulled himself back into a bird and took off to the north. He muttered a prayer to Mythal and Sylaise to keep him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I know it's been slow going. Spring Break is almost over so updates will be slower as I go back to work and school. But I'm seeing this through to the end!


	11. Old Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've got some fluff between Dorian and Falon, and Felix gets to threaten Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I suck at fluff and smut, I'm sorry

It was a little passed midnight when Falon finally reached the Pavus’s Qarinus residence. Much to his happiness, Dorian’s balcony door was still open with a small flickering light. Falon’s heart raced a million miles an hour. His wings hurt from cutting across the wind. His magic was flickering so quickly he angled himself downward through the door. He shifted back in the middle of the front room as though he were rolling his shoulders. 

Everywhere ached as it often did when he shifted so many times. But he was relieved to be back. The room was pretty much how he had left it. The fireplace had died, and the harp was inside now. Plus there was a strong odor of alcohol. But it was still in one piece. So was the idiotic drunken mage that was staring wide-eyed at him from the door to the bedroom. 

“Wha…You…Falon?” He slurred. Falon wrinkled his nose. 

“What a silly question. Do I look that different from when I left a few hours ago?” He countered. The Altus was swaying on his feet with a blush of liquor on his cheeks. And a glare upon his face. 

“I wanted you to leave.” 

“Yes well, there’s the thing about having freedom. Other people’s wants don’t matter much.” Falon smiled evilly, “And didn’t I say never was a long time?” 

“You damned idiot go back to frolicking in the forests and making flowers bloom with your voice.” 

Falon snorted as he walked closer to the Altus. “I told you, we don’t frolic in forests. And we can make flowers bloom…just not by songs. Besides,” gently Falon grabbed his shoulder. “I was never good at following orders, you know that Peacock.” His body was tired and aching to rest, but he pushed that away. He had gone through this dance before and managed every step perfectly when he received his vallaslin. 

“I can’t…we leave for Minrathous tomorrow, you will never get another chance…” Falon stopped his words with a finger. He ignored how the human’s lips felt, the prickle of his moustache foreign. 

“I came back, of my own will. Because you need me more than my Clan.” Falon noticed how the man was watching his lips. Well…best be careful. Last thing Falon wanted was to try to explain how he ended up naked in Dorian’s bed tomorrow morning…Though entertaining, it would likely cause the man more stress than needed. 

“I don’t want you here.” Dorian protested, “Now shoo, go away.” The taller man took a step back and tried to look fierce. A look that only made Falon chuckle. 

“Really? Because the way you are looking at my mouth tells a different story, lethallin.” Falon saw how Dorian’s eyes flickered between lust and grief. He remembered drinking vaguely, how it made him feel numb to the pain. It was nice for a moment not feel hurt form talking about Kalor. Drinking was still stupid, but he could get where he was coming from. 

“I am not watching your mouth in any such way aside from trying to dis-discern what you are saying.” Dorian glared. Falon bit back a smirk. He tried to suppress the sudden urge to kiss the human, instead focusing on why he was here in the first place. 

“No?” it came out more coyly than Falon intended. Elgar’nan when did he become a flirt? 

“No, of course not…No matter how much I’d like to kiss you, I’d never—“ Dorian stopped as though his mind caught up with his tongue. The fresh flush of pink over the human’s cheeks made Falon smile in earnest. Carefully the elf stepped closer. He was practically breathing in alcohol, but still his heart sped up. Heat came off the Altus in his bedclothes into Falon’s bare chest. It felt nice as a cool breeze hit his back. 

“That so?” Falon had to tilt his head back a tad to look at Dorian’s silver eyes. Again grief was fighting with a primal desire. Apparently the desire won out as Dorian gripped the back of Falon’s head pulled him into a kiss. 

Falon’s heart stopped as he let the shemlen bite his lips, but he kept himself calm. Dorian was not Kalor. He was not Kalor. Falon kept repeating in his head. He focused on the tickle of his moustache, enjoying its odd sensation before breaking this kiss. 

His breath came out shaky, a soft burn settling in his stomach. “I think you should get some sleep Dorian.” 

“I can think of something better to do.” Mythal’enaste! Falon suddenly realized this must have been how Dorian felt when he’d been drunk off his ass. His body shivered feeling strong hands on his hips, but his head kept screaming. 

“Peacock, I’d much rather—“ Falon bit back a groan as Dorian ground his hips against him. “Have sex with you when you’re sober. Less alcohol, and less explaining.” Dorian frowned but started to leave kisses on Falon’s neck. The elf wasn’t sure if he could keep refusing. He wanted to have sex, like actual sex with someone he wanted to have sex with (which just so happened to be Dorian). But by the Creators, he didn’t want to do it with a drunken Dorian…who swayed a bit like an idiot. 

He could feel the Altus push him back towards the bedroom. “Dorian, Peacock, listen.” Falon grabbed his face and made him look into his eyes. “Take it from someone who knows heartbreak, you don’t need sex. You need to grieve. And not have grief sex either. Trust me that doesn’t help…” Falon vaguely remembered a few nights in the woods with some hunters after his first halla had died. 

Dorian’s eyes shimmered but then hardened before he took an angry step back. “I don’t need to do anything.” He protested. Falon sighed, trying through sheer will to rid himself of the beginnings of an erection while focusing on Dorian. The latter didn’t help the former. 

Honestly, Falon had no clue how to help him. He just knew a gentle, but firm and chastise hand was needed. Sadly. Carefully, Falon grabbed the Altus’s wrist and pulled him towards the bed. Dorian gripped his wrist back. “Your judgement isn’t sound right now, so your opinion doesn’t matter, Peacock.” 

Falon’s heart was about to beat its way out of his chest. “Besides, I just flew to Ansburg and back again, I’m sore, I want to sleep.” He tried smiling at Dorian as he motioned towards the bed. The human glared at Falon before sighing loudly. 

“Fine.” Dorian threw himself back on the bed, taking Falon with him slightly. Falon’s cheeks heated up. Had there been another candle, Dorian would have seen the elf’s face match his hair. He was afraid his heart was going to collapse at the rate this was going. But the bed was soft at least. “Stay with me.” It sounded little more than a plea. The hand around his wrist tightened as he tried to right himself, half on the bed half on the floor. 

Falon’s heart stuttered hearing it. He could understand not wanting to be alone. But Dorian sounded frightened of the concept. Well…it was a soft bed, Falon thought as his mouth floundered. 

“I will, till you fall asleep, Peacock.” He nodded. The human moved over some as the bed dipped beneath Falon’s weight. All the while, that hand never left his wrist. He settled beside Dorian, careful to keep their bodies from touching. The bed was _really_ soft, so soft his body practically melted into it. He let out a content sigh. 

He waited for Dorian’s breath to become even. He traced designs on the pale ceiling. The open window let in a whispering breeze. It brought the smell of rain and the sound of crickets. All around the world was peaceful. 

Then he felt the bed shiver once. Falon furrowed his eyebrows at the ceiling, listening. He heard little sharp intakes of breath. The overwhelming urge to shield him came over Falon. If he could, he’d wind time back and fly to wherever Felix was attacked and stop it. But would that even work? He was always taught that the Creators had a plan for each of them. Though they were locked away and unable to hear their prayers, they had crafted each of the People themselves and put them into a time where they were needed. 

Perhaps this was part of the plan. Still Falon couldn’t see how causing this much pain could be benevolent. 

Carefully, Falon pushed himself up against some pillows to elevate him before grabbing Dorian’s arm. “Come here, ma revas.” With some effort, he managed to get Dorian to lie his head on his chest. Falon focused on his breathing and his heart rate. Underneath all the alcohol, he could find traces of some soap Dorian used. He zeroed in on it, figuring it out as Embrium and some other spice. Cinnamon maybe? Or maybe Hazelnut? 

He felt Dorian try to force himself not to cry. His heart hurt at that. He remembered pushing everything away, trying to forget if only to fall asleep. It hurt more than grieving. Falon wrapped his arms around the human, kissing his head. 

He whispered soft words while he felt tears slip out onto his skin. He rubbed the little circles his mother did with her thumbs whenever she would hold him. Minutes passed like hours, there in that tiny bubble of chaos on an otherwise peaceful night. 

Eventually Dorian’s tears slowed and he just gave little hiccups while Falon hummed any elven song he could think of. Dorian’s head was beginning to hurt, eyes rough and sinuses clogged. But hearing Falon’s heart underneath his ear, his melodic humming reminding the human of his harp strings, he couldn’t help but drift off to sleep. 

Falon didn’t have much energy left when he felt tension seep out of the Altus with a heafty sigh. He also didn’t want to let go. So he settled back against the pillows and prayed for sleep to bring them both peace. 

***** 

Dorian woke up with a pounding headache and the urge to vomit. Without really truly waking up he managed to climb out of bed and get to the bathroom. After his body had successfully purged itself and made his headache worse, and after brushing away the acidic taste in his mouth, he sighed loudly and went out to get dressed. 

He couldn’t quite remember what had happened last. Not that it mattered much, Falon was gone. So he thought. Dorian rubbed at his eyes before digging in his drawers for clothes. He caught a glimpse of his bed in the mirror over the wooden drawers. His heart stopped as he did a double take. 

Falon was sitting up and stretching…in Dorian’s bed. The Altus made fish noises before whirling around. Please let this be a dream…so mockery of the Fade…Sadly the elf did not turn into a desire demon. Instead he looked beautifully tired as he yawned. 

He looked over at Dorian with a lazy smile. “Good morning, Peacock.” Dorian’s mind spun itself into a rut as he tried to remember what had happened. He vaguely recalled sending Falon away, the stubborn idiot coming back, and…kissing him…a lot. His face heated up as he stared horrified at the smirking elf. 

“That’s the look of a man who just remembered what happened last night…” Falon laughed. His voice hit various nerves inside Dorian’s skull. 

“I…Did we…I’m a bit hazy…” He tried several times to articulate his thoughts but that smile in combination of lack of sleep and hangovers sent all silver-tongued abilities out the window. Falon snickered to himself. 

“We didn’t have sex if that’s what you are trying to ask.” Then a teasing flicker of light came into his eyes. “You tried your hardest though.” 

“I…apologize.” Dorian looked away, shame heating his face more. Maferath’s diseased balls, why did he act like some hormone crazed boy of fourteen again? With an elf who had enough hormone crazed men (and women) in his life take advantage of his position as a slave! “It will not happen again.” 

“I hope not. It’s going to take time getting used to kissing someone with fur on their face.” Dorian’s mind spun for a moment, looking back at the elf. Falon leisurely stretched again before getting out of bed. He sauntered over to his human like a cat and stopped just short of pressing himself against Dorian’s chest. 

“You hope not? You hope it doesn’t happen again?” Dorian asked trying to create some space. Falon smirked. 

“I hope it does…but that you are sober. And I’m sober.” He chuckled as he winked. “Now, we leave for Minrathous today yes?” 

“Wha—yes, but you can’t be seriously thinking about going with us. You are free to go…” A finger stopped his words. 

“We went over this last night. I came back because you need me, Peacock. I want to be here. And you’re right I am free to go. I chose to go with you. So hurry up and get dressed, I’d really like to take a bath before stepping back on the liquid hell.” 

Dorian’s heart stuttered. He wasn’t really sure what to make of this. He hadn’t exactly had good relationships (not that having one with a man who was in the eyes of the law his slave was a good relationship), ones that there were equal parts friendship and attraction. Most were just a series of trysts that were then shamefully hidden under a rug and never thought of again. 

But look of contentment, the willingness to stand by, that was foreign to him. He didn’t know if their roles were reversed, he’d give up freedom…Then it hit him. Falon didn’t give it up. He was exercising it, though in technically still nothing more than a slave. 

Without thinking too much, for that’d hurt his already throbbing head, Dorian tilted the elf’s head up and kissed him. A sweet and soft kiss that Falon chuckled into. Dorian pulled back to eye him suspiciously. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Your moustache tickles.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “It’s not…normal? Unpleasant?” Falon smiled. 

Dorian snorted. “Perhaps if you grew a beard it wouldn’t feel so odd.” 

“Elves can’t grow beards!” Falon laughed. “It’d take away from our elven beauty! Besides can you imagine me with a beard?” 

Dorian chuckled. “Yes and I have to say it is hilarious.” Falon frowned playfully before pushing against Dorian’s chest with a glare. 

“Get dressed, Peacock. We need to leave some time today.” 

***** 

They departed just a day ahead of a storm. Said storm soon caught up to them at sea, making the waters choppy and dark. Falon was asleep for most of the trip, thankfully. But his dreams were filled with sunken ships and watery graves. And he was all the more thankful when they finally docked in Minrathous (not that Dorian’ could blame him. He had to take one of his mother’s potions just to keep his shrinking stomach intact). 

“Ugh, if I never get on another boat, it’ll be too soon…” Falon groaned as he stumbled off the boat. His legs were shaky, and his body kept thinking the ground was moving when it wasn’t. 

“So we’ll never see a Dalish pirate?” Evea snorted, helping Nadya with Adelina’s bags. 

“Oh that’d be a sight.” Nadya grumbled. Falon got the distinct impression Nadya didn’t like the Dalish. Not that it mattered much to him. Many flat-ears hated his People, just many Dalish hated the flat-ears. 

“Hey now, I’m sure there’s a Dalish somewhere that likes sailing. It’s just not me.” Falon shrugged as he and Oswin began loading one of the trunks. Then Dorian appeared beside the carriage. 

“Master Dorian.” The other three bowed while Falon snorted to himself. 

“Come on, Falon, we’re going to pay Felix a visit.” Falon nodded solemnly before looking at Oswin. 

“You got everything under control, right?” 

The old man waved the comment away. “Lad I’ve been doing this since you were just a thought. Besides, ya got more important things to attend to.” Falon snorted again before following Dorian through the twisting Minrathous streets. They both fascinated him and frightened him. They were closer together than trees in the Graves and he was afraid they’d all come crashing down on top of him. But a lot of the side streets had some fascinating stories, which Dorian was all too happy to tell. 

***** 

“I was wondering when you’d two show up.” Felix tried joking. Falon winced hearing his voice thick with mucus. His skin was pale and had a sheen of sweat, a telltale sign of fever. The servants tending to the young man wore masks to prevent the possibility of catching the Blight. Which was ridiculous. It’d take a concentrated amount of Blight to contract it through the air. Like with Mahariel. 

“What did you think we’d spend our time strolling the beach while you were cooped up with the rain pissing on your roof?” Dorian waved the comment away, though his voice was strained as well. 

“What was I thinking?” Felix managed to roll his eyes. “Still you didn’t have to end your vacation on my account.” 

“Nonsense.” Dorian took a chair offered by a small girl. “Mother and father sends their regards and prayers. Adelina wanted me to give you this.” He pulled out a tiny pure white seashell and placed on the end table. “Said it was her favorite shell this week. Be honored.” 

Felix laughed at that though it ended with a cough. Dorian’s face twisted with concern hearing the death rattle in his chest. Falon stayed close to him. He now knew what it was like to watch someone die from the Blight. He had only imagined it with his cousin. He understood why her Clan was so desperate to help her, enough to send her with a Warden and possibly never see her again. 

“Tell the little spitfire, I said thanks.” 

“Of course.” They lapsed into silence. Falon’dir shifted uncomfortably. There had to be something he could do. But aside from dragging Mahariel to Tevinter he couldn’t think of a single thing. Well… 

As another coughing fit took Felix, Falon moved to sit on the side of the bed. The servants all tried to get him away but the hardened glare of beryl stopped them. “I might be able to…help at least get your fever to break…” He muttered. “It won’t cure you…” 

“That’s alright, Lavellan. You don’t have to.” Felix smiled sadly. 

“Hush, you’re sick, your opinion doesn’t matter.” Dorian glared at his friend. 

“Dorian, I’m going to—“ 

“Shut up and let the Dalish be elfy.” Dorian was trying not to get his hopes up. But even if Falon could help ease some pain…He had heard of the magic of the Keepers, mostly through the tale of the Warden. He knew it wouldn’t cure his friend. But there was that tiny fragment of hope. 

Falon frowned at Dorian before shaking his head. “Just relax, Felix. It won’t hurt to try right?” Felix sighed loudly before settling back against his headboard. “Now, remember I’m just an apprentice, so it won’t be…as powerful as my grandmother’s.” 

“Just cast your elf spell, Falon.” Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“It’s Old Magic, not an elf spell.” Falon just received a dismal. He glared but still situated himself on the floor cross-legged. He took a deep breath, flexing his magic around him. He imagined each breath pushed the green glow he felt inside through his veins. It brought a warmth, the feel of a summer’s breeze, the gentle sprinkle of rain in the spring. He could smell the forests, the moss, the grass, the flowers. Then he pushed it out of his hands hovering over Felix’s body. 

He mumbled the elven spell to himself, it becoming more like a chant. It was a prayer to Sylaise, the Hearth keeper. He felt the magic seep into the human’s cells. They were either black and dying, or alive and fighting. He focused on the living cells, coaxing them. He gave them strength to heal, particularly the wound on his shoulder that allowed this disease inside. It was festering and decaying. But he bade the skin heal. 

A soft glow enveloped the bandages, twisting and spiraling delicately as it healed the wound. Falon’s body shuddered as he took a deep breath and retrieved his magic. 

“Well that…was interesting.” Dorian noted when the elf let out a hefty sigh. “Do you usually glow like that?” 

Falon snorted in response and rubbed his head. Felix rubbed his shoulder, pushing the bandages away to reveal a thin white scar, like it had happened years ago. “It was too old for me to heal it without a scar. Too much damage.” Falon sighed as though he were disappointed. 

Dorian hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s more than I could have done. I’m shit at healing.” 

“So I’ve noticed.” Dorian pretended to be offended till he noticed Felix staring at him oddly. He retracted his hand and raised an eyebrow at the other man. Falon looked between the two, feeling an overwhelming sense of awkwardness and unspoken tension. “I’ll…go make you some tea…” He mumbled, just wanting to not be between them. 

“Alright. Thank you, Falon.” Felix smiled as the elf slipped out the door. “What’s going on Dorian?” 

“What do you mean what’s going on? Nothing’s going on.” Dorian rose his hands in surrender. From the glare his friend gave, he wasn’t buying it. 

“Nothing? You promised Lavellan you wouldn’t be that magister.” Suddenly it dawned on Dorian what he was talking about. 

“Maferath’s fucking balls, Felix. Nothing like that is happening.” Though he did try apparently, but best not mention that to him. Felix eyed him suspiciously. 

“Then what is?” 

“Nothing!” Dorian protested as he got up. His head was saying nothing, but his heart was saying something. He went to the window and looked out at the rain dripping down the glass. “Something, maybe. I don’t know honestly.” He muttered to his reflection. 

“It’s either nothing, or it’s something, Dorian.” 

“I don’t know! I told him he was free, he left, and then came back.” He turned to his friend and willed him to drop the subject. 

“He left and came back? Didn’t tell you why? He just did it?” Felix was too damn intuitive for his own good. Dorian frowned and grumbled various curses beneath his breath. 

“Not that it’s any of your business—“ 

“I’m sick and confined to my bed, Dorian. I’m bored, and making it my business.” Dorian rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. 

“He…said it was for me, alright? Happy now that you’ve made it awkward?” 

Felix laughed loudly. “Yes very happy.” 

“I’m so glad,” Dorian grumbled sarcastically. 

“It figures you two would end up together.” Dorian’s cheeks heated up. 

“We aren’t together, Felix.” His friend shook his head with a knowing smirk. “It’s technically impossible for use to be together in any sense of the word. He’s a slave, and I’m an Altus. I’m human, he’s elven. I’m Tevinter, he’s Dalish. Do you see how everything is blocking that path?” 

Felix laughed again. “Oh just admit it, Dorian. It’ll be easier on us both.” 

Dorian glared. “I will not admit guilt to something I’m innocent of.” 

“Fine, be stubborn. But Dorian,” Felix sobered up a bit. “If you push him away, I swear I’ll come back from the Fade itself to choke the idiocy out of you.” 

Dorian eyed him suspiciously. “That’s rather morbid of you, Felix.” 

He snorted as Falon entered the room again. “You’re a necromancer, you should be used to resurrected corpses and morbid jokes.” 

“Yes but not from my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So oh my Creators, literally gained 100+ views overnight! Thank you so much! 
> 
> We're getting to the end of part 1 sorta...a few more chapters where I crush your souls and then rebuild it and then we should be done and ready for the Inquisition! (No one ever is ready for the Inquisition). 
> 
> I'm debating on if Kalor will come back, so we shall see...


	12. A Fool's Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Falon discuss magic (again) and Halward gets a foolish, foolish idea in his little head..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to celestialmoonfire who inspired the jumbled bits of magic talk from our discussion on blood magic! It's not blood magic talk, but... Falon's magic is hard to explain in his voice because it is so deep seated into his religious beliefs and his upbringing (which means no science basically) so sorry if it starts to get confusing. I based it partially on potential energy, and completing circuits along with some other sciencey things I can't remember right now!

Days started to fall back into routine, granted it was a different routine. Falon would wake up before dawn, slip out to take his bath, and make tea so that when Dorian awoke, he was greeted hot tea. When Dorian voiced his complaints that Falon had no need to wait on him, the elf laughed loudly and said he wasn’t waiting on him. He was making tea that Dorian could drink if he so pleased. Falon just wanted tea in the morning rather than whatever the hell coffee was. Gave him a headache. 

Dorian supposed it was nice, seeing the red-haired elf craft an array of teas, no one the same as the last, as his hair dried. It was also nice continually waking up with him near, though he’d never admit it. Just as he would never admit to feeling intense worry whenever Falon left to go fetch something in the slaves’ quarters or the kitchen or what have you. Fear he wouldn’t come back, fear this was a dream, and above all fear something would happen to him. But he always came back and followed Dorian wherever he went. 

After Dorian had eaten, they’d be on their way to Alexius’s where the magister had thrown himself into his studies. They spent endless hours pouring over tomes Falon could neither read nor comprehend. But he stayed near. 

He was afraid if he left, Dorian might crumble and turn to the one thing that made him better in the past. And Falon was sort of sick of Drunk Dorian. The part of him that had hormones just couldn’t take the building up with no release. The other part that was rational, just hated seeing him go down a path that only lead to destruction. 

Falon sighed to himself as the two had started yet another heated debate in the Alexius study. He played with the owl on his neck, trying hard to fight the sudden panic rising in his chest. It didn’t matter that they weren’t yelling at him. He could still see Kalor’s face spitting acidic words at him in the back of his mind. 

“It doesn’t work, because it can’t, Alexius.” Dorian hissed. They were fussing over some amulet they had managed to construct. As far as the elf could tell they were working with time magic. Falon knew that it was a fool’s path. There was no way to change the past. Even if you managed to go back and fix something, who’s to say that it wouldn’t just erase your existence? Or if you went back to the past, then at that past present you would have been there anyway so the future present would still happen wouldn’t it? 

His head hurt trying to think of it. It was an eternal loop of past presents and future presents. And it made no sense. It should stay nothing more than fiction, in his humble opinion. Idiots would use it to go back to the fall of the Imperium or when the magisters punched a hole into the Fade… 

“Falon,” Dorian’s voice was strained as he looked at him. Falon winced as he jolted away from his thoughts. At first he thought Dorian was angry, but he then noted the anger was more towards Alexius. 

“Y-yes, Peacock?” He replied warily. Alexius looked about as happy as a drenched cat. Like the very idea of Falon speaking made him want to vomit his lunch. 

“You’ve study different magic than us, yes?” 

Falon furrowed his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?” 

Dorian’s frowned dropped as he chuckled. “No, of course not. I was just wondering what your people think of time magic. Perhaps your ancestors used it to extend their lives?” He motioned the elf to them, bringing him into the circle reserved for student and sponsor. It upset Alexius greatly. He’d have to talk to Halward about his son’s infatuation with the elf. While it was marginally more acceptable than taking another Altus as a lover, it was apparent the young man was becoming far too attached to this one slave. 

Falon glanced at Alexius before slowly moving closer. He got the iciest glare from the magister. But then he remembered, Dorian was treating him more as an equal. Alexius was not his master, he could do nothing to him…He straightened a tad, holding his head higher and focusing on Dorian. 

“It is a fool’s idea.” Both humans blinked at his bluntness. “That’s what I was taught. It would disrupt nature, the very essence of the world if it were possible.” Falon would not make it sound like a good thing because it wasn’t. 

“But you are able to make plants grow; are you not speeding up—“ Falon’s shaking head stopped him. For a moment Dorian just watched all the seashells in his hair and how they were an odd contrast with the blood red. 

“I coax them. I give them energy they need to grow. Magic is everywhere, in everything, as energy. This floor has or had a spirit or an energy at one time, the essence of magic. I find that essence…” Falon reached out with his magic. He felt it through his feet. Slowly a tiny plant sprung to life from the wood. “And I let it have my magic, my energy so it will grow. The more magic I give, the bigger it gets. If I give it all, it becomes a part of me. And unless I let it keep it, it will die because its magic is unable to sustain its new growth.” 

Dorian blinked as the tiny plant withered away. “You do realize that sounds eerily similar to blood magic, yes?” 

Falon’s eyebrows flew up. “No, it isn’t. Blood magic breaks and forces. I create and coax.” His demeanor changed, as obviously he didn’t like the idea of using blood magic. “From what I understand of blood magic, it is using the energy stored in the blood that the body uses to live. The mage forces that energy to be used as magic instead of what it was intended to do.” 

“So you just act a conduit? An energy source? A focus?” Dorian’s brain was spinning. As was Alexius’s. If the Dalish was able to bend the energy around himself, rather than use his own magic, perhaps there was a way to create a focus for the arcane energy that could get this amulet to work… 

“If you explain what a conduit is…” Falon laughed. 

“A channel.” 

Falon looked around him like he could find the answer in the air. He shifted uncomfortable. Think of what his Grandmother would say if she knew he was giving the secrets of ancient elves away… 

“Sort of? I have my own magic, just as you do. I open myself up and create a bond with another object, or merely with the energy in the air. Spells are just like moving my arm…only creating lightning or ice.” 

“Which explains when you shift forms…” Dorian began stroking his chin, remembering all the magic swirling around the elf as he pulled himself into another shape. Dorian had always been taught that mages were pulling from the Fade itself when the cast spells. “So every cell of the mage and everything else has the potential to become fire, ice and what have you…It isn’t that you are reaching across the Veil and pulling magic so much as you are pulling from the potential energy of an object…” 

Falon’s head spun with all those words. Potential who what? “Sure?” He said uncertain. Alexius was nodding his head in forced agreement as Dorian spoke, completely understanding it all apparently. 

“That would explain why your magic feels so different, more natural. It pulls from this side of the Veil…” 

“What does my magic have to do with time magic?” Falon asked. 

“Nothing.” Alexius muttered with a glare. 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Merely trying to show Alexius what an idiot he is being. Perhaps push him a new direction of study. We in the Imperium did not think shapeshifting was possible after all.” 

Alexius snorted, glaring at his student. “Whether or not you help, Dorian, I will save my son.” Falon’s heart reached out with sympathy. He understood the need to do anything. His eyes drifted back to Dorian who shook his head sadly. 

“Alexius, even if you could get this to work, who says it’ll fix anything?” 

The magister, with dark circles developing under his eyes from restless nights of trying to craft powders to slow the disease that now held his son, looked to the side. His jaw set as he turned to them both. 

“Leave then.” 

***** 

“Well what got his smallclothes in a twist?” Dorian grumbled as they began to walk back after being basically kicked out. Falon walked slightly behind him. There was this horrible feeling in the bottom of his stomach. Like something was going to come back to bite them on the ass… 

“He is trying to save his son, Dorian. How would your parents react if you suddenly got an incurable disease?” 

Dorian snorted. “Celebrate?” Falon rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sure that your parents would try to do everything they could if only to keep their heir, Peacock.” 

The Altus waved the comment away, “They have Adelina for that. They don’t necessarily need me anymore.” 

Falon shook his head. “And what if Adelina is not a mage? What then? No offense to your parents but they aren’t exactly in prime child making years here.” 

“You have a point, but I have little doubt Adelina will be a mage.” Falon walked to be able to see the human’s face. There was a bit of resentment but still an amused smile graced his lips. 

“And what makes you so certain, Peacock?” He cocked an eyebrow. If only his Clan had such certainty when it came to magically gifted individuals…Unless one of his younger siblings was a mage, Falon might just have to have a child to keep his Clan from going extinct. He didn’t like the idea, especially after having actually bedded a woman in the brothel. To say he didn’t see the attraction would be an understatement. 

“Magic runs strongly on both sides of my family. It is why my mother was chosen for my father.” Dorian explained as though it were obvious. “There is little room for Adelina _not_ to be a mage. I give her three more years before she starts flinging fireballs in a tantrum.” 

Falon snorted. “I take it that’s what you did when you first found you had magic?” Falon could picture a little tiny Dorian (sans moustache) throwing a walleyed fit over something stupid and pointless and igniting the curtains…They turned down an alley to avoid the market district. Falon still hated that place with all the packed bodies and loud noises. Vendors shouting everywhere, people shoving you in every direction, and a horrid shemlen smell. 

“Oh heavens no. When I first learned my magic, I merely shocked everyone and everything that came close to me.” He laughed. “What about you, hmm? Did plants just come to life at a thought?” 

Falon rubbed the back of his neck with a shaky laugh. “Uh, no. My eye colors changed a few times, but the thing that made it real obvious was…I fade stepped out of a tree and broke my arm…” 

“You what?” Dorian stopped to stare at the elf. He shrugged and looked around nervously. 

“My father and I had climbed this really big tree and when he was helping me out my mother came out of nowhere and startled me. I fade stepped across the clearing and broke my arm from falling…” 

Dorian blinked but then laughed at the meek expression the elf had, like it was some embarrassing secret. “How old were you?” He asked between laughs. 

“Seven. You?” Dorian stopped to study the elf. He was seven when he learned he had magic. And minus the eight years spent in slavery, that was ten years spent training…And Falon said he was still an apprentice. 

“Eight or nine.” He muttered, still looking at the elf oddly. “You developed magic quite young and you’re still an apprentice?” 

Falon chuckled. “Keepers are not like your Circle mages, Peacock.” He motioned for them to start walking again. This was nice, Falon thought. Just talking. Occasionally their fingers would brush against each other, but other than that it was just talk. Something he hadn’t done in a long while with some he cared for. Falon pulled himself away from that thought quickly. “I will be an apprentice till my Keeper passes into the Beyond.” 

Dorian’s eyebrows went up at that. He couldn’t imagine remaining an apprentice that long. He dreaded to think of it. He remembered the apprentice dorms quite well. He had his own room as most Altus did. But still, it was a quiet and solitary time. His parents rarely visited, like most Magisters. His mother came a few times, mostly to nitpick his room or posture or habits or what have you. Dorian in the early years spent his time studying, even in his pubescent years when his sexual desires were made apparent he focused on his studies (if only because he was troubled by his sexuality then and he doubted many boys his age would have similar wants). 

“That long? So if your Keeper were a spry twenty year old, you’d have to wait until she died?” 

“Or be given to another Clan. But yes. It takes a lifetime to guide a Clan, Dorian. I have to first learn to control my powers, to withstand possession. At the same time, I begin learning the Old Songs, the history of my People; I have to read and write in what Elvish we know. I have to know the rites, the traditions. And more importantly, I have to learn how to lead.” Falon counted off the things he had learned on his fingers. “To be a Keeper is to be more than a mage. It is to be a guide, a leader, and scholar of all Elvhen.” 

Dorian blinked. He had been groomed to become Archon one day. Many classes he took at the Circle revolved around mundane studies like government, history, and what have you. But somehow he knew it was different than what Falon had to learn. Whereas Dorian was taught how the Magisterium works, no one taught him how to lead. 

“I imagine you excelled at all that, Falon.” Dorian said softly as the gates to his house came into view. 

Falon laughed. “Not really. I had a hard time controlling my magic, and I never really liked ordering people around, but I could mediate well enough. But my Grandmother said practice made perfect, so occasionally she would tell me to give out orders to everyone.” He shrugged. 

“A mage as skilled as you, having trouble controlling his magic?” Dorian scoffed, making a tiny blush come over the elf. “I think you are just being modest.” 

“No, Peacock. I was…frightened of my power.” Falon looked down at his hands. “Suddenly I was different. Rather than go play with the other children, I had to learn how to read. Then I tried to light the fire…It scared me; it burnt away things. And all I could imagine was burning my Clan away.” 

“I suppose growing up with no other mage children would be difficult. Luxuries of being an Altus, I guess.” Dorian made his tone light to make that smile come back from the darkness it hid in. 

Falon smirked half-heartedly. “You are so spoiled, Peacock. You probably have never hunted in all your life.” 

Dorian pretended to be offended as they walked through the gates. “Not true. Once when I was five, I caught a frog.” 

“My your hunting prowess astounds me.” 

***** 

The raven flew off with Halward’s message wrapped around his foot just as his son and the elf entered the gates below his study. The magister narrowed his eyes at the two. Alexius’s message lay open on his desk detailing the other’s concern about their apparent growing relationship. 

_I worry that young Dorian may be lead astray by this savage. It seems the elf has been feeding the young man such stories of civilized elves running about the woods, making the boy question perhaps more than is wise._

_Just today, Dorian asked the Dalish his opinion about magic, as though barbarians in the woods knew anything about magic academia._

_I understand that this is a difficult time for you, what with Dorian’s wanton behavior, but I believe this elf will only encourage this behavior rather than allow for him to move on from this childish phase…_

Halward knew something must be done about the elf. Oswin had already reported that the relation has apparently moved far from its intended purpose. How anyone could call a slave a friend, or a lover, he could not fathom. 

But the magister had a sinking feeling, the longer the elf stayed in the picture, the more Dorian would turn from the path that was best for him. Halward frowned at his reflection in the window. 

There had to be something he could do. His son was so stubborn, insisting these desires weren’t just flights of fancy, a curiosity…In the back of his mind, Halward worried that they weren’t. If this wasn’t just going to pass like Dorian’s need for a dog (which his mother thankfully talked him out of), then all their planning and preparation would be for naught. He wouldn’t let twenty three years of careful grooming go up in flames for a mere triviality such as sexuality. 

But what could he do? His mind spun for a way to set them all back on the path he envisioned. Halward began to pace in front of his desk. 

Force Dorian to marry Livia? It was obvious the young man wasn’t going to do that. Even if Halward and Aine managed to arrange the marriage, it depended on Dorian playing the part. And he wouldn’t. He made that clear. 

What else could he do? Disown his son was always an option. But that left Adelina as his heir, which wouldn’t do. She would be married to some magister’s son, and the Pavus house would be no more. 

Frustration built inside his chest. How could his son not see that the course set for him was for the best? If he truly wanted to help change the Imperium, he should have been thrilled at having the opportunity to have just a chance to become Archon. But Dorian chose instead to be selfish. 

Halward at his son’s age had been stubbornly against marrying Aine who he remembered from a few parties (if only vaguely). He had his heart stuck on someone else, a foolish thought of course. Halward had eventually realized though that his parents knew what was his best chance at creating a solid line and gaining enough power to actually do something. 

If only Dorian were so rational… 

Halward let out a frustrated sigh, his eyes catching upon a book on his shelf. It was a dusty tome, obviously not often touched. He was about to look away, but something made his eyes stick. It was a compendium of blood rituals he once had to study as an apprentice. Officially it was to show examples of a foul art, to warn against such things. But unofficially it was merely to give them a means of studying such magic without fear. 

He hadn’t touched it since placing it upon his shelf. Then an idea came to him. Blood magic could bend people to someone’s will. Could it also change their minds permanently? 

Indecision wrestled his heart as he walked to the shelf. It wouldn’t hurt to look he supposed. And if he happened upon a ritual that would give him a perfect son…well all the better. In the meantime, he needed to think of a way to get rid of that troublesome elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Halward, bad! No Blood Magic! Your son is perfect already!!!
> 
> Okay, so Halward rant about Dorian just pissed me off while I was writing it. Like seriously, I had to look away from my computer screen while I typed the words. Just ugh.
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this little chapter! I'm thinking two more in Tevinter and maybe three - five to get us to the Inquisition...Which will have one chapter at the very beginning and then I'm skipping ahead to Dorian because that's what the fic is about right? This little blossoming of romance? Or is that just what I tell myself? ^.^


	13. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatched, another is set into motion...and some fluffy nonsense...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been awhile, Sorry about that! School and tending to other stories gets in the way of my little love birds. I also apologize for this short and possibly crappy chapter, I have so much to do so I didn't have a lot of time to spend on this...
> 
> So some of you know from Nothing, that I like to ask for your opinions on things that come in my stories (it makes me so happy) and this one is puzzling me. So I'd like you all to weigh in. There's no spoilers, just a little naming issue I'm having.
> 
> The fallback for any and every Dalish when it comes to pet names for their lover is Ma Vhenan (My heart), but my problem is that Falon already called someone that (Kalor) and probably wouldn't want to use that as he associates it with bad experiences. SO I'm having a debate in my head that's not resolving itself. The question is: which of these are better (whether it's more lovey-dovey, cute, practical, whatever your reasons):
> 
> Ma Revas (My Freedom, it was used a few chapters back, but only because that was my default)  
> Ma Suledin (My Strength loosely translated)  
> Ma Ethan (My Safe Place...or at least that's how I translate it...) 
> 
> So if you have an opinion let me know. Please and Thank you.

Falon sighed contently as he finally sunk into the baths. No one else was around this time of day, which was all the better for him. He felt no eyes on him, and no rush to scrub his skin raw. 

He had been so content to sleep the day away in that warm, soft bed and he nearly had if Dorian had not woken up to his mother’s knocking. Apparently Alexius had discontinued his sponsorship of the Altus. Which of course lead to Dorian getting worked up. Falon could understand why, it was rather unfair of the Magister, but at the same time the magister was completely consumed with saving his son and wasn’t thinking clearly anymore. 

In the end, it had taken till afternoon (which was only an hour and half to be fair) to get Dorian less of a wound up snake ready to strike. That was when his father called for him. Which lead Falon to the baths he was currently washing in. 

It was nice, warm and soothing. Summer apparently meant lemony scents mixed with some flower he couldn’t distinguish. He rubbed the soap over himself, feeling no hands groping him this time real or imaginary. He was relaxed, calm, and if he closed his eyes he could almost feel like he was back home. Wherever home might have been at the moment. 

That was an odd thought. He never really thought about it before, but he’d been in the same place for basically eight years. The idea settled oddly in his stomach. He wouldn’t call Tevinter home not in a million years and for all the land in the world. But this was the longest he had stayed in one place, and not been run off or had the Templars sicked on him. 

Falon thought that this feeling might be better if he could call the place home. But he’d pick a better place like Antiva or Ferelden. Though nowhere could compare to his Free Marches. Still if he had to pick a place to settle down, he supposed he could always take his cousin up on her offer. Well the King’s offer. Mahariel spoke highly of King Alistair, though Falon got the feeling she was biased since she was supposedly his mistress… 

Their ancestors would roll in their graves if they knew Falon and Aerah were sleeping with shemlen…though Falon wasn’t having sex with Dorian…but still ancestors would be rolling if they knew he was sleeping with a shemlen. They’d burst into flames when they learned the shemlen was Tevinter… 

That thought twisted Falon’s gut as he dunked his head, combing through it with his fingers. What would his Clan think? Should he even tell his Clan? He was a terrible liar, so if they asked he doubted he could make up anything convincing. What would happen? Would he be exiled? Shunned? Or stoned to death? 

Such thoughts clouded his mind as he worked soaps into his scalp. He furrowed his brow, heart stuttering. Should he feel ashamed for finding the shem attractive? Perhaps it was a fleeting feeling and would pass…Which just twisted his organs more. He didn’t want it to pass. He liked Dorian, far more than he should. Was that wrong of him? 

Falon let out a frustrated sigh, suddenly he missed the ghost hands. At least then he didn’t think about what was right and wrong about his current situation. 

“Someone’s not having a very good bath…” Evea’s voice echoed off the stones. Falon was quite used to not having privacy when he was bathing. Plus she wouldn’t be the first woman to have seen him bathing. So he merely turned his head, one hand still rubbing soap into his bloody hair. 

“Just contemplating the mysteries of the universe is all.” He replied. She walked to the edge of the bath and bent down with a smile. “Is something wrong or are you just here for the view, flat ear?” 

She laughed, “I would appreciate the view a lot more if the view didn’t play for the same team as I.” 

Falon’dir snickered. “What can I do for you?” 

“I don’t need a thing. Your human though might need something like a strong drink or a smack upside the head.” 

Falon cocked an eyebrow. He had barely been gone an hour, how much angst and trouble could Dorian get into in an hour? Evea smiled as she saw the Dalish trying to figure out what in the world had gone wrong. 

“From the amount of shouting coming from the study when I left, I’d say the masters are having yet another family talk.” 

That makes sense…Dorian and his father were about as compatible as oil and fire. And it seemed the greater the family drama, the more likely Dorian was to get drunk…And he was a very flirty drunk and Falon really didn’t feel like saying no this time. 

Falon let out a large sigh. “Can’t he I don’t know just leave?” In the Clan if you disagreed with your family or the Keeper you could always leave, just go find another Clan. They were never forced to stay in one spot. Granted, Falon’s family/Clan fights didn’t seem as big as Dorian’s. 

“Personally I think its stubborn pride.” Evea shrugged watching as the Dalish dunked himself and combed out the soap in his hair. “Seriously how can you stand having that much hair?” 

Falon sputtered out some water, rubbing his eyes. “Simple, I’m used to it.” He laughed. 

“But doesn’t it get caught in twigs and leaves when you’re runnin’ through the forests?” 

“I don’t do much running; I’m not a hunter. Moreover if I run through the forests, it’s usually as a wolf or a bear.” 

“Ah so you aren’t really shaggy in those forms then?” She asked as she fetched him a towel. Out of decency she turned her head to the side as Falon got out the baths and wrapped the towel around himself. 

“Of course not.” He chuckled as he dabbed himself dry before dressing. “Well lets see if I can’t lessen whatever has got Dorian into a tizzy this time…” 

Evea laughed at how it sounded like he was going off to war with no hope of returning. But she still smiled as the Dalish walked out of the baths, hair dripping wet. She wondered how the human would react to such a thing, which only made her giggle more. They were good for each other. Fire and Ice, Death and Life. One balancing the other. 

*****

Dorian wasn’t in his room when Falon got there. But the amount of Tevene curses coming from down the hall told him where the human was. Falon scratched the back of his neck after he shut the door. 

“Thank the Creators my family drama isn’t war like that…” He mumbled to the emptiness. All that could be heard were muffled yelling and water dripping from his hair. “So…maybe hide the wine?” Falon was mumbling to himself as he looked around. 

Why was it so awkward to be in there? He shuddered, crossing his arms. The room was dead. No fire, all the windows shut, nothing moved save the elf. His eyes flickered around, trying to find something to distract him from the eerie feeling he was getting. All his animals were bristling too. 

But that could have been from the fighting going on in the study. Either way, the air was tense in the house. And Falon just wanted to be rid of it. 

“Why can’t you just leave? It’s not like your parents have any control over you anymore…” Falon muttered as he began to just walk towards the window. It was stuffy in there. And hot. Like the inside of June’s forge hot. He sighed loudly as he opened the balcony. Suddenly there was a lot noise in the room from the market streets. A cool breeze sent a shiver down Falon’s back. 

His mind was a jumble of thoughts. He still remembered his brothers warning. Two months. That time was nearly up. That thought alone put dread in his heart. What was he supposed to do? Leave Dorian here to contend with his equally-stubborn father? That seemed more likely to end up with Dorian begging for money on the streets so he could go get drunk. 

It wasn’t like Falon was in love with the human…or at least that’s the excuse he gave himself. While he was taught not to hate the humans as hate bred only more hate, some part of his elven heart was against falling in love with a shemlen. Or was that just the part that shriveled up and died? The part that still loved Kalor? 

Falon sighed to himself, leaning against the balcony’s frame. His heart tightened just at thinking that. But he knew there was a part of him that would always love that wolf. Which made figuring out his feelings for Dorian that much harder. 

“What did I do for my life to have happened this way?” He muttered. He was caught between two men. It didn’t matter that one was little more than a wolf disguised as a puppy and the other was a shemlen aristocrat…from Tevinter…the land that took everything from Falon’s people. That alone should have decided for him. Perhaps in the past it would have… 

But Falon had seen so much more of Tevinter. Granted the majority of his time spent there was nothing but nightmares fueled by blood magic and torture. Still, he remembered Qarinus. How blue the water was, how the sand was oddly soft. That little crab. Sitting on the terrace with Dorian. Shemlen sweets. How Dorian got a smile on his face when he rambled on about some street’s history. 

It was a beautiful place that was covered in blood and carrion. It was a place where the stones had a story to tell. And though there was little nature around Falon, he could feel it. He wondered if Arlathan was similar. Not the blood and carrion part (though he imagined immortal beings would wage outrageous wars), but the story and nature parts. Could you walk down a street and feel the history through your feet? Or walk through an archway and suddenly be transported back a few centuries? Of course it depended on if the ancient elves even had metropolises like Minrathous he supposed. 

His eyes stared at the horizon where he could see the Circle Tower jutting into the sky. Not far from that was where the Magisterium convened, though that building was hazy. Dorian showed it to him once while they were going to the Circle for some obscure book. Falon was impressed by the old thing. He was worried it’d collapse on him, but it wasn’t hideous. 

Shemlens were good at creating gorgeous buildings at least. He wasn’t sure how functional they were. The Pavus’s mansion was a bit of a labyrinth at times. And the Circle? Mythal’enaste, Falon couldn’t fathom memorizing its layout. It seemed it changed every time he went there. 

But Dorian seemed at ease. Falon may have joked about his lack of direction sense, but the human did know he’s way around his city. And thinking of Dorian put both a smirk on his face and a punch in his gut. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Falon hissed. His eyebrows furrowed. He wasn’t going to leave Dorian, that much he knew. But he couldn’t allow Deyrion to come to Tevinter in some sort of ill-advised escape attempt. He’d be in a slave collar in no time. And anyone who came with him. 

Falon let out an irritated growl, not noticing the door opening. “Elgar’nan kaffas!” 

“That’s not any way to greet someone.” Dorian scoffed behind him. Falon’s body jumped and spun around, about ready to shift into a bird and fly out the window. The Altus had a playful smirk that didn’t match the stormy expression his eyes were making. 

Falon took a deep breath, relaxing his stance. “Ir abelas, Peacock, I didn’t hear you.” Dorian sauntered over to his couch and threw himself down. Falon could almost sense murder and despair in the air around him. Why did that make his heart stutter? Why did he want to grab him and run off? 

He knew these feelings quite well. But he was afraid to give them a name. “So I take it your family talk went as expected? Lots of yelling?” Falon asked quietly. Dorian was rubbing his temples, his head leaned against the back of the couch. The elf shifted nervously, his eyes focusing on the human’s neck. His mind wondered if Dorian was sensitive there. What would it feel like to kiss it? Would he make nois— 

_Mana, stop, no! Don’t even start going down that path of sexual fantasies, Falon. Tis dark and you hate making fire._ He scolded himself as his cheeks reddened. Dorian looked to the side once before doing a double take. “Why are you blushing?” That just made Falon’s cheeks heat up more. Even the tips of his ears felt like they were on fire. 

“N-no reason.” Falon shifted uncomfortably again, trying to avoid Dorian’s eyes. 

“Oh-ho, the elf _can_ have a dirty mind…” There was actual amusement in his tone as he laughed. 

“Shut up, I am a man.” Falon grumbled more to himself than anything. 

“Yes, and a very attractive man, at that.” Falon’s heart stuttered a bit. Dorian seemed to be enjoying getting the elf flustered as he shot him a teasing smile when their eyes met. Falon’s face was nearly as red as his hair. “So tell me what was your Dalish mind thinking of, hmm?” 

Falon opened his mouth like a suffocating fish before he could get words out. “I don’t think I should answer that…” He told his heart to calm down lest it shatter his ribs. But it pounded harder when Dorian chuckled. 

“If you tell me, I might just let you live it—“ 

“So what did your father want to talk about, Peacock?” Falon interrupted as he fidgeted with his shirt. 

Dorian frowned though it was easy to tell he was amused. “Sly little devil…” He muttered but he didn’t say anything else. Falon looked around the room until he felt his face cool down some. It didn’t help that Dorian was just staring at him. “Come here.” Falon’s eyes shot over to the human. 

Falon didn’t move. Instead he looked at Dorian suspiciously. What was he up to? Falon’s hands continued to play with his shirt, finding loose strings and pulling at them or twirling them around his fingers. 

The Altus smirked and held his arms towards the elf. “Come here please.” Falon narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be suspicious, just come here.” 

“Then wipe that devious smirk off your face.” He took a hesitant step towards him. He knew Dorian was just doing this so he would forget about that little meeting. ‘Don’t talk about it’ seemed to be Dorian’s answer for most problems. Still it felt like there was a string around Falon’s heart as the human kept his arms open. 

“Devious? Now what ulterior motive could I possibly have for asking you to come here?” 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out…” Falon mumbled. Despite his head telling him no, his feet moved forward. Once he was within reaching distance, Dorian grabbed his wrists and pulled him down. Falon made a surprised noise before Dorian wrapped his arm around him. 

Only instantly recoil and look at him oddly. “Maker’s balls, why are you wet?” Dorian sounded like Falon was bleeding. Falon’s brain, however, could only remember to blink. Did Dorian want to cuddle? In the middle of the day? Why didn’t he just say that? “Well?” Dorian pressed as Falon just kept staring at him. Shemlen were weird. 

“You interrupted my bath with your family drama.” Falon snorted. 

“And you couldn’t take a minute to dry yourself off before leaving a puddle on my floor?” He sounded positively insulted. Falon got his own devious smirk as Dorian flicked the hand that had touched his wet hair as though there would be actual water on it. 

“Nope. Tel’abelas, Peacock.” Falon snickered as the Altus glared. “I take it cuddling is out of the question now?” He was mocking the shemlen. Though inside he was a little disappointed there wouldn’t be anything happening. 

“Of course it is. This robe is satin.” Falon didn’t know why the fabric was important but he pretended to understand. His smirk widened as a horrid little idea popped into his head. Suddenly he was a teenager again. 

The elf stood up as though to keep the respectable distance between them, or to go fetch something like a towel. Instead Falon sat down on Dorian’s lap and leaned back. His soaked back pressed into Dorian’s chest. It was cold making them both jump, but then Falon felt the Altus’s body heat. 

“You don’t mind if I dry myself on you, do you?” Falon asked with a laugh. He titled his head back to look into Dorian’s disapproving glare. 

“Heathen.” The human growled. But it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy this. Falon smelt like citrus and water, and was warm. Suddenly Dorian was entirely grounded to this world rather than his thoughts as Falon laughed. Maker’s breath, when did that laugh come to have this reaction? Dorian wondered as his heart picked up pace. 

Falon could feel him breathe, hot air tickling his ears, a warm chest pressing against his back with every intake. And when Dorian’s arms wrapped around his stomach, he sighed contently. For a second there he thought he was going to be thrown off. 

“So what made you so upset today?” Dorian muttered after several minutes of just silence. He had to admit this was nice. No sexual needs, no haste, nothing. Just enjoying each other. It was odd for him. Normally when another man sat on his lap, it was for a kiss and a ride. But it almost seemed like Falon had fallen asleep with his head resting on Dorian’s shoulder. 

“Hey, I asked you about your meeting first.” The elf whined. Dorian’s fingers traced patterns over Falon’s sides. “You aren’t going to distract me, Peacock.” His tone was that of warning. 

“As though I was really trying.” Dorian rolled his eyes, but let the elf go. Suddenly, everything just came back into focus. Of course it did. He couldn’t have a moment’s peace. That’d be too out-of-sync with nature. 

Falon practically felt Dorian’s mood switch to irritation again. It made his back tense up. It became harder to breathe. _Calm down, Falon. This isn’t like before…Dorian wouldn’t hit you…_ he tried to console himself. Despite having the distinct urge to run, Falon turned on his lap so he could easily look at him. 

“You tell me your problem, I tell you mine.” Falon compromised. Dorian was looking at the ceiling with a frown. His bad mood was almost tangible. What happened? Now he really wanted to know. 

Dorian sighed loudly. “He set the date.” Falon cocked his head to the side. He set the date? Like set the calendar? How could that upset him? Didn’t everyone has the right to know the date? Dorian raised his head to look at Falon’s confused face. “My wedding date.” 

Suddenly Falon couldn’t breathe. That made more sense of course. But why did it feel like he got a punch in the gut? His heart fluttered anxiously in his chest. “W-what?” 

“He set my wedding date for Harvestmere.” Dorian sounded like he was either in disbelief or outrage. Maybe it was both. Falon hesitantly reached up with his hand. But then froze. What was he going to do? 

Falon furrowed his eyebrows. He wanted to do something. Something to take away that angry face. But what could he do? His thoughts from earlier came up. There wasn’t anything he could do short of dragging him out of Tevinter. Dorian was as trapped as Falon. After all, even if Falon’dir did manage to leave Dorian, he would be an escaped slave. He’d be hunted. 

Without Falon noticing what he was doing, his fingers brushed that little dark spot under Dorian’s eye. The shock of touch jilted both of them out of their own worlds. Falon was surprised again how soft his skin was. Dorian was more stunned by how delicately he was being treated. And how Falon’s hands were neither calloused or soft, but a happy middle. 

An idea came to Falon’s mind as he watched his fingers trace patterns over the Altus’s skin. There was no way he was going to stay here. And there was no way he was going to leave Dorian. But what if he could have both? Couldn’t Dorian come with him? It solved most of the problems. Dorian wouldn’t have to live a lie, Falon would be free to go home… 

That was where his mind stopped. Falon got to go home. But Dorian had to leave his… Why did this all have to be so complicated? For the first time in Falon’s life…he wished he wasn’t himself. Not the First, bound by obligation to his Clan. Not a Dalish, tethered to keep the Old Ways alive. And not an elf… 

Maybe if he wasn’t those things, it would have been easier. 

“That’s…that’s not that far off…” Falon muttered, withdrawing his hand. It felt like his heart was freezing again. Dorian’s arms returned around him. 

“My father said it was time I grew up, time to stop pretending.” Dorian’s words were venom. “I suppose it is time to stop pretending that he would ever understand.” 

Falon cast his eyes downward. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. For what he didn’t know. He just felt like somehow he had caused this. Was it because…Falon was getting too close to Dorian and vice versa? Somehow that seemed to be the only feasible option save for Halward hoped by setting the date, it’d force Dorian to accept it. Like it was fate. 

They sat in silence for a while. Falon’s mind spun around, trying to think of some way to make this better. But he couldn’t. It was like it really was fate. There seemed no way out of it. The Creators have a plan for each of them, but why didn’t he have any control over it? Was he just destined to live with a cold heart? 

“Fuck fate.” Falon growled under his breath. 

“I’m sorry what?” Dorian blinked at the elf. An almost savage glare twisted across his features as he rose his head. Falon wasn’t going to be made prisoner by anyone. Not his gods, not any shemlen, not his idiotic heart. And he was going to be damned if he let Dorian slip away from him. 

Dorian was somewhat concerned at the sheer intensity of the stare. It was like staring into the eyes of a wolf. What in the world was he thinking about that made him that upset? Was it the fact that after the wedding, Falon would be no-doubt used by his wife? That thought sickened Dorian. 

But he always was slightly aroused by the serious look on the elf. 

“Leave.” Falon finally said. His voice was unwavering. He didn’t care anymore. If his Clan exiled him, so be it. If Dorian’s parents sent hunters after them, that was fine. He was going to be the one to protect him, no matter the cost. “Leave with me.” 

Dorian blinked confusion. Where was this coming from? “Leave? What’s this all about Falon?” 

The elf set his jaw, moving to straddle Dorian’s hips. He like where this was going so far… “You don’t have to stay here and be your parents’ pawn. You can leave. We can…” Falon’s brain struggled to think of anything. “We can go to Nevarra or Orlais. Or Antiva. You should be comfortable enough in one of those. Or we can just travel around…but I think you’d get tired of that…” 

Falon’s eyes wandered down to the side in thought. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows at him. “What…Where is this coming from? What’s with the serious expression?” Dorian tried to laugh, but neither his mood nor Falon’s face would allow that. 

“You remember when I left back in Qarinus?” 

“I try not to, but yes.” Dorian admitted. That got a slight smile at least. 

“Well I…found my older brother Deyrion then. He wanted to drag me back to the Clan but…I told him there was someone who needed me more than them.” 

Dorian frowned at that. It made him seem needy, possibly hopeless. But then as if sensing his thoughts, Falon’s lips brushed against Dorian’s forehead. That silenced most thoughts the human had. 

“He told me I had two months to send word that I was coming back before he came to Tevinter and dragged me back.” 

“That’d go over well. I’m sure the slave hunters would look the other way if he told them he was just there for his brother…” Dorian snorted. Then it struck him. “Wait two months?” It had nearly been that give or take a few days. “How are you supposed to send word to a nomadic people in a matter of days? Short of flying there yourself.” 

Unconsciously, Dorian’s hands tightened around Falon’s waist as though he could keep him from leaving. 

“I know a spell, that’s not the problem.” Falon brushed it off as though it were nothing. “The problem is I don’t want to…” He trailed off, as a blush came over him. 

“You don’t want to return to your Clan?” Dorian asked bewildered. He didn’t want to be free? What sort of madness was that? 

“I don’t want to leave you.” Those turquoise eyes that had such a fire inside them moments ago, averted themselves downwards. The Altus would be lying if he said his heart didn’t stop at those words. He didn’t know what to say to that. How could one respond to that anyhow? The words sounded so fragile, and yet they felt like they cut him to shreds. 

Then Falon’s eyes met his. “I want you to come with me.” 

It took a moment for Dorian’s brain to register that sentence. “I’m sorry but you want to bring me with you? As you tramp about the cold southern forests looking for your Clan? And then what? Will your Clan overlook my rounded ears?” Dorian scoffed. What a mad idea! 

Falon winced a little. Then the human realized the look in his eyes. He was absolutely serious. He was seriously wanting to drag Dorian south. But there was a sadness in his eyes, like…he wasn’t planning on staying with his Clan. 

“I just want them to meet you once. My people need to know there a few good Tevinters in the world…After that…” Falon looked away again. “If you want to come back to Tevinter…we can. But only if we don’t live here. Maybe Qarinus or somewhere else. Just not with your parents.” His voice was small as he said that. 

For some reason, the idea of coming back to Tevinter with Falon in tow…angered him. What was he even thinking? Inside the Imperium, he was nothing but a slave. He had no rights beyond what his master allowed him. And yet here he was, giving it all up. For what? Dorian. 

Falon winced. “I was thinking…” Dorian blinked realizing he spoke out-loud again. “that you deserve to be happy.” The elf’s fingers fiddled with one of the buckles on Dorian’s robes. Not undoing, just messing with it nervously. 

“What?” Dorian got out between making inaudible noises. 

“Your parents want you to be the perfect son, to be someone you don’t want to be or can’t be or whatever…” Well thank you for explaining that, Dorian grumbled in his head. “I want you to be happy.” 

That was new. The Altus blinked. He noticed for the first time how Falon’s eyelashes were a deep auburn, how they cast a shadow on his cheeks as he looked down. But his mind was trying hard to think of some other reason the elf was adamant about bringing Dorian with him. And why in the world did he care if Dorian was happy? 

“I’m sorry I got you wet…” Falon muttered absently. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. He never said his apologizes in Tevene or trade tongue… 

“Don’t change the subject.” Dorian growled. It was hard to stay angry when the elf looked so…meek. It was like he thought he would get punished for saying all this. Then Dorian winced, he just might think that…He remembered his story of his husband (that word actually felt like a vile word especially when it dawned on the human that here he was holding a technically married man on his lap…). Falon just might fear Dorian was going to be like that. 

“At least think about it, please.” Falon pleaded finally. 

The Altus bit his cheeks for a moment. “I’ll think about it.” 

***** 

The day passed without much more incident save for the fuss Dorian made when Falon chose to sleep on the couch. The elf said it was because he thought Dorian was mad at him. So it was some sort of punishment. For which of them, he didn’t know. 

What he did know was that he couldn’t sleep. The day seemed to hang over him, pulling down his shoulders as he stared up at his ceiling. It sat on his chest and made it hard to breathe. 

Dorian didn’t know what he was going to do. He supposed he could make a fuss about the wedding, but he doubted that would do any good. His parents were set on the date, they made that much clear. So he was left with only a few options. One was to spend the rest of his life screaming on the inside. But such a thing would surely ruin his good looks prematurely, and thus was not worth it. 

Another option was to put off as much as possible. Or just leave. But why did it feel like he was running away if he did that? Maybe because he hadn’t convinced his father of anything. Why was he so stubborn anyway? Maker forbid, he cared what Dorian wanted ever… 

A small noise came from the front room, like a soft sigh. Falon did that a lot while he was sleeping. Dorian smiled slightly. At least there was someone who cared what he wanted. But he couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it just to get Dorian to come with him? Did he just not want to chance being chased by hunters? Was Dorian just a means to an end? 

Of course Dorian was used to that. It wouldn’t have been the first time he was a port in a storm. But…he didn’t want to be. Which was either really good…or really bad. He wasn’t sure which it was. Either Dorian liked him too much, or he liked him far, far too much. 

Any way you cut it, Dorian found himself liking the elf too much. So it hurt to think of possible ulterior motives he had to asking Dorian to accompany him. He wouldn’t say it wasn’t tempting. But…would he really give up his Clan? For a human? Somehow that hurt the most. It was like Falon was giving up a portion of himself. He couldn’t ask him to do that. It might not be Falon if he did. 

And yet, he didn’t want to let him go. 

“Maferath’s backstabbing ass, don’t tell me I’m going to have to be the selfless one…” Dorian growled to the ceiling. Why did it have to be this complicated?! Why did his ancestors have to destroy the elves? That thought popped up unbidden. Why was he blaming his ancestors? 

Perhaps it was because if they had not destroyed and enslaved the elves…perhaps elves would be viewed as rivals and equals rather than slaves and inferiors. Maybe then this…whatever you want to call it, this relationship wouldn’t be so…scandalous at best and blasphemous at worst. 

Unable to take his thoughts any longer, Dorian got out of bed and put on a robe. He could raid his mother’s study for some sort of sleeping potion, but his feet seemed to have other ideas. His eyes squinted against the soft light coming from the fireplace as he walked into the front room. 

A breeze blew in from the open balcony, making a whistling noise. Well that’s just annoying. With a frown Dorian went to close it. How Falon could sleep with the wind blowing on him was beyond the Altus. Of course Dalish didn’t have windows…Did they just sleep in tents? Or out in the open? That would get cold in winter. Perhaps he would ask the elf in the morning. 

As quietly as he could, Dorian shut the window. He sighed to himself. He wondered what Falon stared at when he looked out. Did he just see the city or did he see his home somewhere in the distance? 

“Maker’s balls, I’m turning into a sappy teenager…” Dorian muttered under his breath as he shook his head and turned around. And stopped. Everything stopped as his eyes fell upon the elf sleeping soundly on the couch. 

He had his back against the back, one hand over the edge while the other was tucked under his pillow. He didn’t have his shirt on, but that wasn’t what distracted Dorian. It was a nice bonus sure. But what he noticed was the intricate designs that decorated him. In the daytime, they were nearly invisible, blending perfectly with his skin almost. 

But in the near darkness, he could find areas that were darker, areas that were lighter (those were scars no doubt). The dark areas formed an elaborate tree pattern and Dorian could just barely see a different design beginning on the back of his neck. 

Beyond that, his red hair was dyed a deep reddish brown with soft coppers and golds shimmering with the firelight. Dorian could feel the Fade around him as he dreamt. It was a strong magic, one that felt more like a heartbeat than anything. Unconsciously he walked to look at the elf. 

It was like he was crafted from every mystery in the universe. Meant to capture attention, but never to be captured. At that moment, Dorian thought he might be dreaming. There was no way someone that beautiful could exist (aside from Dorian himself of course). 

It wasn’t fair. Why did they have to choose to either be together and lose everything or gain everything and be separate? Why couldn’t there be an in between? He thought about how Falon had flown off before. He didn’t want to see that again. While it was interesting to watch, it hurt to know at any moment he could just vanish… 

That struck another thought though. Falon could have flown away at any point in time during his capture. He had no reason to stay in Tevinter. And he was more than smart enough to evade capture. 

“So why?” slipped from his mouth. 

“Why what, Peacock?” Startled him. Dorian staggered backwards as he registered Falon’s eyes glinting in the light. The elf got a devilish smirk before he yawned and stretched like a lazy cat, just shifting his body into a more comfortable position. 

“H-how long were you…How did you…When…” Dorian sputtered out as his heart tried to race to Par Vollen. 

“You learn to be a light sleeper when you camp in open areas or near shemlen cities.” Falon shrugged. “So what are you doing? Watching me sleep?” Dorian was quite thankful it was dark as a blush heated his cheeks. “Why are you blushing?” 

“What?!” Dorian blinked many times at those glinting eyes. 

“I can see you blushing. Why? Were you thinking something dirty as you watched me sleep?” 

“No!” Dorian denied adamantly. Thanks for making me seem like a pervert, Dorian muttered in his head. Falon chuckled. 

“Oh too bad.” Before Dorian could figure out what he meant by that, he sat up, the beads on his necklace making tiny clacking noises. “So why what?” 

The Altus rubbed his forehead. He should just go back to bed…But Falon was staring intently despite looking like he was about to doze off again. Dorian supposed there was no harm in asking. 

“If you could change shapes, why didn’t you flee before?” He asked bluntly. The elf barely even flinched. 

“Because if I ran, I’d be hunted. If I went back to my Clan, there was a chance the hunters would find me with them…and I know they would rather die than give me up, even if I willingly chose to go with them. Moreover, I doubt hunters would have a qualm about rounding up the children, and other docile ones and killing the rest. I couldn’t do that to my Clan.” Falon shrugged as though thinking about the entire Clan was the obvious answer. “Besides, if I ran, I still wouldn’t be free.” 

“What?” Dorian’s mind was starting to lose track of itself. 

“Kalor told me I had to be set free in front of a judge or in a will or something official like that. So even if I left, I’d still be a slave.” 

That’s right…Dorian winced. Even if Dorian allowed Falon to leave, he was still considered property. He belonged to Dorian in the eyes of the Imperium, no matter how much Dorian denied it. 

So did Falon just not want hunters to come for him when he left? Was that why he wanted Dorian along? So it would seem like master and slave were just taking a trip south for a bit? 

It made sense. But it still hurt to think that way. Falon looked at the ground for a moment. It hurt more to think of him being a slave for the rest of his life though. Dorian realized that. If he could ensure that Falon was free…then at least one of them would be happy. However, creating the legal documents, obtaining a hearing, and then presenting the case would take time neither of them had. 

Dorian looked towards the fire. Perhaps if Dorian did leave…he could return Falon to his Clan and then part ways as they should have done long before these feelings got so out of control. So long as Dorian stayed out of the Imperium’s sight, and Falon remained hidden as Dalish were known for, no one would even think that Falon was anywhere other than Dorian’s side like a good little slave. 

“Dorian you are brilliant.” He muttered to himself. 

Falon gave him a suspicious look, “Yes Dorian is, but Falon is confused as to why Dorian thinks so.” 

“Don’t be a cheeky ass this late in the night…” Dorian glared. The elf gave a crooked grin that made Dorian’s heart stutter. _Stop being so gorgeous when I can’t have you…_ “I was just thinking about how best to tell me parents I will be taking a trip South for a little bit…” 

It took a moment for Falon’s brain to register those words. But when it did, his eyes widened into saucers. 

“W-what?” His utterly surprised look made Dorian chuckle. 

“It’d be quicker to take a boat, but you hate sailing…” He kept going on as though arranging some extended vacation. 

“I’ll…be fine. Just knock me out once we set sail.” Falon couldn’t help but smile childishly. Perhaps Dorian was just using him as an excuse. Perhaps he was playing some other angle. But in that moment he didn’t care. He just knew he had more time with him ahead. And that was proof to him that the Creators existed. 

After Dorian playfully muttered a few ideas to himself, he turned back to the elf that seemed about ready to tackle him in excitement. “So this spell of yours…” 

Falon blinked, catching himself from falling down yet another dark desire-filled path as he caught a peek at Dorian’s bare chest. He had wondered if shemlen grew hair there like durgen’len. What would it feel like? 

But he jerked himself away from those thoughts before a blush could take hold. “Yes…the spell…” He shifted a bit. “I’ll need a few things in order to cast it…” 

“Make a list in the morning…right now…” Dorian smirked alluringly. His eyes flickered to his bedroom door. Falon blinked obviously. _Right now what? Why is he smiling that way at me?_

“What?” 

Dorian sighed to himself. “Obviously I’m not mad at you…” He hoped the elf would catch on quick. Did Dalish honestly not have such thing as flirting? Or no pillow talk? 

Falon stared at him a long while, trying really hard to understand what Dorian was getting at. Dorian soon lost his smirk. Seriously? Either he was playing innocent or for a bunch of people living in forests, they were remarkably chaste. 

Either way, Dorian stepped close enough to yank the elf up by his arm. “Come on.” 

Suddenly it clicked in Falon’s head, “Oh you were trying to get me to go to bed with you…Why didn’t you just say that?” 

Dorian sighed. How was he ever going to deal with this? 

***** 

“That’s everything.” Dorian muttered handing him the last of the ingredients needed for this obscure elven ritual. “So will you now explain what all this is for?” It had taken Dorian two days to get all the necessary ingredients and only because he had gone through his mother. She thought he was finally coming to his senses and studying alchemy and was all too happy to work her contacts. 

Falon smiled and started to arrange the things on the table in front of the couch. Two sprigs of Amrita Vein, five Royal Elfroots, a few Witherstalks, three Embriums, a Dragonthorn, some Rashvine Nettle, two Felandaris, a bottle of dried Lunatic’s Deathroot, and three Blood Lotus all sat in one pile. And then three candles all with a lavender scent and some rosemary from the gardens were set up in a triangle. And stuff to make tea along with some odd instruments Dorian didn’t know what they were. One looked to be close to a bent fork… 

“Did you break our silverware?” He asked baffled. 

“Maybe…it’s not like you don’t have three drawers full of the things. Sides these were already broken…I just made them more broken.” Falon chuckled as he started to rip the leaves off some of the plants. 

Dorian frowned but didn’t comment. What was this ritual? “You still haven’t told me about this ritual. No blood sacrifices or mystic orgies are going to happen yes?” 

Falon looked at him with a look of concern. “No of course not. The Dalish are many things but blood mages? No. My grandmother would sooner bow to a magister than use blood magic.” He shook his head fiercely. His hair was for once loose and almost wild looking. 

“Your hair is a mess…” Dorian muttered disapprovingly. The elf hadn’t slept much nor eaten much in the last two days, leaving his appearance…rather haggard. Falon barely even heard the comment. 

He was nervous about this ritual. He had learnt it sure, but never tried it. It was for emergencies only as it could possibly be fatal. He was told only to use it if he was sure he wouldn’t be coming home…And here he was using it to tell them he was coming home…Ironic really. 

But he had to get everything right. He checked the candles that Dorian bought. He sprinkled the rosemary on them; he would later wash them in a remedy used to strengthen his connection to the Fade. Which reminded him… 

“Dorian you’ll have to find something to cover your face with.” Falon mumbled as he worked on the Felandaris. 

He felt suspicious eyes on him. “Why?” 

Falon didn’t want to meet those eyes. “I’m worried that breathing in the smoke from the candles will either make you go into the Fade or fall asleep. And I need you to be fully aware for me.” Dorian didn’t like the fatalistic tone the elf had. 

“Now you are making me curious and nervous. Just what is this?” He grabbed the elf’s hands and forced him to stop. Falon sighed softly before meeting his eyes with troubled seas. 

“Basically…I make and drink a poison that tricks my body into thinking its dying. My spirit will detach itself and enter the Fade where I find my grandmother and either drag her into the Fade or just talk to her depending if she’s asleep or not…” 

Dorian’s mouth hung open. His heart stopped. What the hell kind of plan was that? “Wait so let me get this straight, you are basically killing yourself to tell your Clan that you are coming home? That seems counterproductive to me.” Dorian snapped. 

“I’m not killing myself…hopefully. If I don’t wake up in seven minutes, I need you to feed me the antidote…If I don’t wake up in eight minutes…” Falon averted his eyes. _I’m dead_ was what he should have said, but it was hard with Dorian looking like he was about to just send a messenger bird and confine him to the bedroom. 

But the Altus seemed to finish the sentence for himself. Why did that idea frighten him? It wasn’t like Falon was his only way out, rather Dorian was Falon’s only way out…Or had the human gotten too attached already? Whatever the reason, his stomach was twisting as he looked at the plants. 

“But I should be conscious enough for me not to choke…And if I wake up on my own…I’ll still need the antidote…and sleep.” 

“Just how is this a plan? Why can’t you just fly the message—“ 

“I don’t know where they are at.” Falon interrupted, his eyes hardening into jewels. He was willing the human to understand. “The Mage Templar War has disrupted everything in the South. It was sheer luck that I found them in the first place…They weren’t in their normal area, so I don’t know where they’ll be at this time…” _And I don’t want to waste time searching for them…If I did, Deyrion may just start his trek north…_

Dorian glared for a little bit. “If you aren’t awake in five minutes, I’m shoving the spoon down your throat.” He grumbled as he settled down on the couch. 

“But I—“ 

“No. Five minutes. I will not negotiate.” Falon winced at how angry he sounded. Though he got this warm feeling in his chest, Falon felt cold as he prepared his poison. Two parts Blood Lotus, one part Felandaris, a sprig of Witherstalk and the Deathroot all were put in his cup awaiting the boiling water. But he wanted to be sure he had the antidote before he even thought of finishing the poison. 

The rest of the ingredients were placed in a separate cup and the teapot since it may take a few doses to get this out of him. When he was done with that he began the focus circle. First he had to take the remainder of the Felandaris and Blood Lotus and mash them into a paste to rub onto the candles. Then he pressed one of his makeshift focus rods into the sides of each candle. 

He placed them so the rods were pointing inwards towards the center of the triangle. Now he needed to draw the circle…Hopefully Dorian wouldn’t get mad as he traced the circle with charcoal. 

“And now you are vandalizing my table…” Dorian quipped. “This is so barbaric I may just have to leave the room.” 

“It’s charcoal, it comes off.” Falon grumbled. He could just sense the unhappiness radiating from the human. But…any means necessary right? He felt a little guilty for making the human angry, and a bit scared if he was being honest…What if Dorian didn’t wak—Enough of that…He shoved those thoughts away. In all technicalities, it was just a mild sleeping poison that abruptly put the body asleep and kicked his soul out…The only problem was if he didn’t get back to his body within eight minutes his mind would honestly think it was dead and cease to beat his heart…So…to say he was nervous would be an understatement. 

“Just what is writing on the table supposed to accomplish?” 

“It’s a focus circle. We found it in an old ruin once; it helps channeling energies. In this case it should help me find my grandmother…Should being the keyword…” Falon bit his lips as he took off his necklace and placed it in the center. It would work better if he had his Keeper Ring, but whether by the grace of the Creators or his misfortune he had left it in his aravel the day he was captured… 

“So basically, there’s no guarantee any of this will be successful?” 

“Peacock…” Falon’s voice sounded tired. “If it’s not too much to ask, but could we maybe not think about all the things that could go wrong?” Falon looked like he had already known this was going to end badly. How in the world was Dorian not supposed to think sourly? He was basically running up to Death and slapping its ass. 

“Five minutes.” Dorian just glared at his pleading eyes. The elf sighed loudly. 

“Five minutes. I just need to steep the tea and I should be good to go.” Falon looked away and began to let the water boil. His stomach was all knotted up and his head was a cloud of dark thoughts. He swore Dorian could hear his heart racing in the silence as they waited for the water. 

“When was the last time you combed your hair?” Dorian muttered in the silence. Just looking at it, he could see tangles and knots galore. For someone who seemed to care a great deal about his tresses, it was odd to see it in such a disarray. 

Falon unconsciously touched his head, finding it a frizzy and knotted mess. He never did get to brush his hair after taking his bath…Could he even get a comb through it now? Not those brittle and broken ones probably. He sighed sadly. “A few days ago I think.” Dorian sighed loudly again before he got up. 

Falon twisted around to watch him enter his bedroom and return with something in his hand. “At least make yourself presentable for seeing your grandmother…” He held out a comb. He nearly laughed at how the elf’s eyes widened. 

“But…that looks expensive; I don’t want to break it…” Falon feared even touching the thing. It was ornate and gold colored, though the paint was coming off to reveal pure ivory. It had two birds atop it surrounding an odd and jeweled cap. The frame for the teeth was delicately carved to look like it was…a swan? He squinted trying to discern the bird he had only seen a few times here in Tevinter. Yes it was a swan that seemed to be in the motion of straightening out from a dive. 

“It was Adelina’s, but she lost a few of the jewels and it was too ornate for us to give to the baths…so somehow or another I ended up with it. And if you are worried about breaking it, Adelina has about ten different combs, she won’t miss it.” Dorian was still not happy, but he did roll his eyes as if Falon was overreacting. 

Hesitantly the elf took it. “What’s the little cap for?” He wondered aloud as he marveled at the comb. Did all aristocrats have such terribly ornate objects for everyday use? It seemed like such a waste for the beauty…Then again, he remembered watching his grandfather craft armor, detailing in hares and wolves on the leather to ask for Andruil’s blessing. It made the armor stronger he said. But this? This was no way needed. 

“You pour perfume in it.” Dorian told him as he returned to his seat. 

“Why?” Falon gave one of the most adorably confused look Dorian ever had the pleasure of seeing him do. It was enough to make his mood lighten a tad. 

“Aside from making your hair smell nice, it wets the teeth of the comb without having to use water.” He said it like it was obvious. Falon experimented and opened the cap, sniffing at the opening. He could smell a faint aroma of old perfume, but it was old enough for the smell to not have any real distinction. 

“Shemlen and their oddities…” He muttered as he replaced the cap. It was odd to see the elf so fascinated by something like a comb. Dorian knew those were practically a copper a dozen since it was used not for decoration. And yet, Falon’s eyes were alit with wonder. Suddenly Dorian realized once again how different their worlds were. 

“Keep it.” Dorian said without much thought. The elf blinked at him with calf eyes. “I have no need for it and it seems you are quite taken with it. It’s been cleaned whereas I do not know if those in the baths have. So keep it.” 

Falon’s stomach tightened some more. “Are you sure?” He wondered why he was getting this. Dorian didn’t seem the type to just give gifts…no Tevinter did. 

“For the love of the Maker, just keep it. Think of it as…” Dorian waved his hand around searching for the right words, “incentive for coming back alive.” That would work as an excuse. He didn’t want to admit he just gave it to the Dalish merely because it seemed like he never had such ornate things before. 

Falon gave a sappy smile. “Careful, Peacock, it might get around that you aren’t as cold blooded as everyone thinks.” Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“Just comb your hair and drink your poison already.” 

***** 

Once Falon had let his poison steep long enough and poured the hot water over the antidote to steep while he was out, he looked to Dorian. His stomach was all in knots, his heart was breaking his ribs, and he was quite sure he was beginning to visibly shake. 

“Are you quite sure this is the only way to get the message to them?” Dorian asked suddenly. He was doing a rather good job at hiding the fact that he wanted to tie the elf up until they left. Just looking at the Dalish it was clear to see he was frightened beyond his wit’s end, which was good. If he wasn’t, then Dorian would have gotten more upset. Falon knew it was stupidly dangerous. Question was why was he still going to do it? 

Falon sighed softly. “Short of turning into a raven and flying around the Free Marches for a day or so? No…if I don’t get them a message today, my brother will set out with whoever decides to come along…” 

“I don’t suppose your brother would forget or delay?” 

He gave a short laugh. “My brother is my mother’s child. Everything is done to the letter, with no exception.” Falon took a deep breath and let it back out. “Well…five minutes right?” He took the cup and threw the poison back so quickly Dorian couldn’t have stopped him if he had tried. 

The elf’s skin grew paler as he gagged. That was when Dorian’s heart started to beat much faster. What happens if he drank too much? Or drank the actual ingredients? What ifs and outcomes circled in his mind as he grabbed the elf’s shoulders. As the elf started to cough, he motioned towards the candles with his eyes. 

Without much thought, Dorian lit them, taking care to breathe into his shoulder. It seemed like forever as the elf’s eyes dimmed. For a moment, Dorian feared he actually did kill himself. 

_It’s only for five minutes…just a spell…he has to come back…_ The Altus repeated in his head. Falon’s body went limp, everything stilled. He had warned Dorian not to disturb his body too much so laid him down on his side in case he began vomiting into the bowl. Then Dorian set the hourglass he had primed for five minutes. 

It would be the longest five minutes of his life. 

***** 

The poison worked quite well. As soon as Falon’s vision became dark, he entered the Fade. He was a wolf as normal, but rather than in some place the spirits crafted for him, he was literally in a void. His heart was still panicked as he looked around for something…Where the hell is it? 

Did he not do the spell right? Or the circle? Many thoughts flew through his skull. Then a faint white glow started to his left. The urge to chase it arose like someone had slapped a chain on him and dragged him towards it. He didn’t have much time to waste so he ran full force towards it. 

Even if it wasn’t his grandmother, he could still tell them…Though any non-mage might think him a trick of the Beyond…or Fen’Harel…But he didn’t have time to think too much about consequences. 

Thankfully time in the Fade passes quicker than the real world. As he followed the glow, it became brighter and brighter until it enveloped his entire field of vision. It got so bright, he had to shut his eyes as he continued to run through it. 

An odd rippling happened around his body like he had dove into water. For a moment, he was weightless; he couldn’t even feel himself. It was like suddenly he had no substance. Only the fact that he was wondering what was going on kept him from panicking even more. 

Then his body crashed together. His mind became jumbled and disoriented. He swayed on his legs, as he blinked many times trying to clear the dizziness that spread through him. There was a tug on his from behind, beating with his physical heart. But he couldn’t think about that right now. Right now he was in someone else’s dream. He could sense the spirits trying to push him out; he didn’t belong there. 

Still he remained, his spell anchoring him there. Now he just had to find whoever was dreaming…Falon sniffed the air with his muzzle. Of course there was the metallic smell of the Fade, which seemed to overpower any other smell for him. 

_Well that’s just peachy…_ He grumbled in his head. He had to think quickly. He supposed that if he could focus on the dream, he might be able to sense the other presence…In theory anyway. He had never done this before after all. As an outsider, he could see the Fade lying underneath the lush meadow along with the spirits hiding in the trees. But the Dreamer wouldn’t see them. Would they even see him? 

He shook his head fiercely. _Concentrate…_ There was that little pulse, but that was his body. Whisperings of spirits…a breeze…pulses of magic…a laugh…a brook…wait a minute… 

His wolf’s ears zeroed in on the laughter. It was rather quiet but he could figure out it was coming from his right and was somewhere near the brook. Without thinking much, Falon ran towards it. _Please be, Grandmother_ He muttered over and over, adding a little _and let her not think I’m Fen’Harel…_ only after a bit of thought. 

The serene meadow was one from the…Emerald Graves probably in one of those few areas that didn’t have giant trees. Or perhaps it was the Exalted Plains. Falon had never been there before, which would be why he didn’t know where he was exactly. It was grassy with a few towering trees and some elven ruins. But he didn’t know where exactly. He still ran for the stream though. 

And skidded to a stop. 

He was rapidly breathing, despite not feeling tired or sore anywhere. His heart wasn’t sure which was up and his head was pounding. Or the other way around…The point was he wasn’t sure what he was doing or where he was. 

His mind struggled to think of something, the little pulse was growing fainter. Where— 

“By the Creators…” stopped his panic for a moment. He turned to see his Grandmother staring at him with bewildered eyes. It was like looking at two images over top each other. He saw his Grandmother, the one with more silver in her hair than black and a weathered face, underneath what had to be her when she was younger. Both still wore their hair in hundreds of tiny braids, both had gray eyes that seemed to be older than the sky, and both were blinking at him. 

Deshanna gripped her staff tighter, fearing the crimson wolf before her was the Dread Wolf. But those frightened turquoise eyes…They looked like Jagan’s…but he was no mage. Perhaps this was some trickery? Some foul joke? But she couldn’t bring herself to attack the wolf; it was too familiar. 

“Grandmother…” Came a soft voice as light wrapped around the canine. It morphed as a pale blue mist came from it. As it fell away, there was a boy she knew and yet he wasn’t the boy…He was a bit paler, with a menagerie of scars on him and with less weight on him. 

Tears came to her eyes as she stared at him. She didn’t care if this was a trick or some sort of test. If she could hold her grandson for just a moment, it was worth much more than her life. 

“There’s no need to cry, Grandmother…” Falon scolded her. She laughed. It hurt to think how much she missed it. 

“I’ll cry if I want to, da’vhenen.” She told him as she wrapped him in a hug. She didn’t remember him being much taller than her…but then again she always thought of him as a child. Mythal’enaste, the spirits even got his smell right. “Where have you been?” She pulled back to glare at him. 

“Tevinter…” 

Her heart stopped. Suddenly she remembered Deyrion recounting meeting Falon in the woods…Most of them just thought it was some sort of trickery, some delusion he had. Surely this must be the same cruel spirit… 

“How—“ 

“Grandmother, I don’t have a lot time.” Falon interrupted. He could feel his heart slowing far off in the distance. His mind kept shoving Dorian’s face at him, the whole reason why he was here, taking this stupid risk. So Dorian could be happy even if just for a little bit. “Deyrion told me that if I didn’t get a message to you in two months, he’d come here…” 

Yes the young elf was in the middle of preparing for some venture though most just thought him still under the spirit’s illusion. 

“So…I’m coming home…Dorian said he is working on getting passage on the next ship to Ostwick.” The boy seemed to smile brightly at the idea. But was this truly Falon’dir? Her little heart? Deshanna wasn’t sure, but…Would it be better to not believe the lie and lose two of her grandsons? Or better to believe this and keep one or both? 

“What of Kalor? Is he dead?” She asked. The boy’s face crumbled so quickly at the name that she had to look twice. 

“He’s not dead, but he isn’t coming back with me either…And if he comes to the Clan someday…he shouldn’t be believed or allowed back.” His words were harsh near the end as he glared at the stream. Then he looked behind him. “I’m sorry Grandmother, but I have to go. Dorian only gave me five minutes.” Falon began to walk backwards. 

“Da’vhenan, wait…” She tried to reach for him but his body shimmered and became a wolf again. As she watched him running, her body woke to her aravel. Jagan was still sleeping softly beside her in the early morning. She felt an odd sensation, one of residue magic on her body. 

Could it have been…? 

***** 

Dorian’s breath hitched as the remaining sand began to trickle to the bottom. Then he felt Falon twitch once and then again. His eyes shot over to the elf just as his eyes opened wide. They were glossy and trying to focus on anything. Carefully Dorian put his hand on the elf’s arm. 

Instantly, Falon looked at Dorian. 

“Well, you’re alive at least…” Dorian mumbled though the amount of relief he felt was beyond words. _He’s fine…he came back_. Falon moved to sit up, but Dorian quickly grabbed him and stopped him. “Don’t even think about it. You just died and came back.” He chastised. Still the elf managed to sit leaning heavily against the couch. 

“Antidote.” It was barely a whisper, as Falon was trying not to fall back asleep. The Altus nearly jumped to grab the teacup (not that he’d admit that). He even held it as Falon drank it. The ghastly complexion of death slowly receded from Falon’s skin, but it was obvious he wasn’t entirely there still. 

“You should rest. I’ll see about putting the rest of the plan into action, yes?” Dorian put the cup back on the table and blew out the candles. When he looked back, Falon was already asleep. 

It still struck him at how peaceful he looked. No one could look that…serene and beautiful asleep surely. Dorian briefly wondered what he did to stumble upon this elf. Most of his adolescent years were spent in brothels and taverns. He had spent countless nights enjoying nameless people’s company. What was another fling? 

And yet looking at this elf with his odd tattoos, Dorian didn’t think he could stand sleeping anywhere else. 

***** 

After placing Falon in a more comfortable position, Dorian slipped out. He still had to check the ports and see which ships were going to Ostwick and when. The sooner the better is what they decided. After all, they weren’t certain what his father was going to do next. After setting the wedding date, he would hear no pleas his son would make. 

It was like he was absorbed in some machination inside his head. Occasionally, it felt like Dorian was being targeted for something. But then that was absurd. What was his father going to do? Knock him over the head and keep him hostage till Harvestmere? Even if he could, there was no way Dorian couldn’t just escape. 

The Altus wandered down to the docks and began inquiring about possible ships. Ostwick wasn’t a very popular travel spot with the Mage Templar War rampaging around. Nevertheless, in three days there was a vessel bound southward to the Free Marches. Now all Dorian had to do was come up with enough money to purchase passage. Easy. Not really. 

While he did get an allowance of money, the funds needed for the trip would…be about triple his allotment. After all, Falon had detailed exactly what supplies they might need. Though he said he could craft many of the items and hunt once they got further from the cities, they still needed gear and some supplies to hold them over. And any supply worth a damn on the Minrathous market was expensive… 

For once, Dorian cursed himself for having discovered gambling and alcohol. Why couldn’t he have saved up money like most men his age? Hoping to buy some obscure book or artifact someday? The one time he thought he should’ve listened to his parents. It was a bitter taste in his mouth. 

For about the hundredth time today, he sighed loudly. He had managed to procure a few items like a tent (or what Falon had said could be a tent when they passed it the day before last), some better armor for the elf, and a few odds and ends he had pointed out. Frankly, Dorian had no idea what some of it was aside from things one used for trekking through the wilderness. Even the shopkeeper eyed him oddly as he paid for it. 

Still Dorian trusted the elf not to pull his leg about this. And seeing as until eight years ago, Falon had never been inside a city, Dorian was pretty sure he knew more about living in the wilds than all of Minrathous. So he made his way back to the mansion with his things tucked neatly under his arm. 

With each step, he swayed between nervousness and despair. On the one hand, this little trip was going to be a whole other story from the times he traveled South for holidays. Falon’s People lived in forests far from civilization. And while the elf had told him many times that it wasn’t a bad life, he dreaded the idea of no beds in the cold Southern air. 

And on the other hand, he had no idea what to expect from the Dalish. Would they even allow him to come near them? Or would he be shot on sight? Dorian rather liked living, and hoped to continue to do so. 

Another hand was about Falon. What if he was only using Dorian? Not that that seemed to be a part of Falon’s character, he was a slave for eight years. If Dorian were him, he’d look for any way out short of death. So it’s not like the Altus harbored any resentment towards the elf if that were the case, but is still twisted his stomach and ruffled his moustache thinking about it. 

So what was he going to do? Not think about it of course. Instead he walked into his house and up to his room, pushing those thoughts away. After all, Falon didn’t seem like he could be a backstabber. Or was that just a façade? 

“Ugh, for the love of Maferath’s idiocy, stop thinking about it.” Dorian grumbled to himself before he opened his door. 

The room was empty. That stopped him in his tracks. His body shivered, ice running down his spine as he looked about. He had only been gone a few hours. He supposed Falon could have woken up by then. But his ritual and necklace were still on the table as was the comb. 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows as he slowly walked in. He hid his items behind his desk before he began to search. There was no sign of the elf, not in the front room, the bedroom, or the bathroom. 

His nervousness became amplified as he felt a slight tingle beneath his nose. Someone had used magic here. And it wasn’t Falon’s magic either. It was familiar, cold, and metallic. His room seemed to harbor dark shadows that would frighten him as a boy. Perhaps the elf went to take a bath… 

His stomach didn’t settle at the idea. His heart didn’t stop its harsh tempo. It was like the elf just vanished, like he was a figment of Dorian’s imagination. His mind thought the elf might have turned to a bird and left without him. 

Though that was preferable, this sudden separation, it still hurt more than Dorian thought. But his eyes drifted to the little owl pendant. He had been so happy to have it back, why would he leave it? 

That was when Dorian spied blood on his carpet. 

His heart stopped as he stared at it. Was it Falon’s? Or someone else’s? Why were they bleeding in his room then? A nose bleed? No it wasn’t a few specks of blood, it was a large stain about the width of a wine bottle. Like someone had been attacked and fell to the ground… 

His heart began to panic. His mind began to play possible scenarios, all while screaming at his idiocy for leaving the elf alone. Dorian bit his lip for a moment, thinking of what he could do. 

“There’s no need to panic, Dorian…” He told himself. “Whatever happened, happened in the middle of the day. There had to be someone who saw something…” Evea or Oswin perhaps. Without really trying to think more on this Dorian all but ran out of the room in search for one of those two. 

Oswin was attending to his father, so Dorian decided it was best to leave him out. Last thing he wanted was to end up in another heated family discussion with his father. Then a thought occurred to him. What if his father had something to do with this? His father had never been the sort to harm a slave simply because of Dorian. But what if he knew of their…Dorian wouldn’t call it a relationship, but he didn’t deny having idiotic and ill-advised feelings for the man. If his father knew, then…could he have? 

_No_ Dorian scolded himself. _Father is many things, but to stoop to the level of abuse and vileness required? I doubt he’d risk tarnishing his reputation just because his son showed interest in the slave he bought him. Especially one he bought for me to have an outlet for my **shameful** behaviors._ Dorian rolled his eyes. It took awhile before he found Evea overseeing some slaves cleaning some odd corner of the mansion. “Ah there you are.” He called when he recognized her Ferelden accent barking orders. 

The elf’s spine looked as though his voice had shoved a rod up it. It was like she was afraid she was going to get whipped just for existing. He furrowed his eyebrows. What was going on here? She never acted this way before. 

“Y-yes, Master Dorian?” She spoke with a fragile voice, still not turning to look at him. 

“It’s rude not to face someone when you are speaking to them.” He muttered just loud enough for her to hear. That seemed to snap her out of whatever paralysis that gripped her. She slowly turned around, keeping her head low so he couldn’t see her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, master…What can I do for you?” 

His gut twisted. Something wasn’t right here. “Have you seen Falon? I can’t seem to find him anywhere.” He kept his voice nonchalant despite the anxiety building in his veins. Evea fiddled with her ratty shirt, biting her lips instead of answering. “Well? What is it? Did he run off to frolic?” 

The moment stretched in silence. Then Evea rose her head, tears threatening to fall. Icy fear creeped around Dorian’s mind and heart. His ears only heard a loud ringing as he stared at her. Try as he might he could still only see her lips move. But it was enough to stop his heart. 

“He’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where you are going to hate me...I have to leave you with a cliffhanger...for a few weeks...
> 
> I'm terribly sorry. I originally was going to finish this last week, so this week I could work on the second half as to not kill you all with that horrid cliffhanger looming around for two/three weeks while I go through finals...Alas twas not so. But...I got it done right? That's a good step right? Right.
> 
> And I just got and read the World of Thedas Vol. 2 so now I'm distressed because the actual backstory of Dorian is so far from this one that I'm writing that...ugh it hurts my canon-loving heart... So it might take me awhile to finish the next chapter. I have to decide whether or not to edit the shit out of this story to somewhat match the canon, scrap this and start again (which hurts more...), or find some way to justify this that isn't oh this is an AU no big deal...
> 
> Now I must bid you all a fond farewell so that I may walk through the shadowed valley of death (otherwise known as college finals) with nary a shred of inspiration! Adieu! Adieu! *exit stage right* (sorry I'm surviving off of allergy pills that make me loopy)


	14. Death and Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions have to be made before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!!! Sorry about the wait, hopefully the next one will be out quickly!
> 
> Thanks to those who have given their opinions and those who wished me luck on my finals!

“He’s dead” echoed around the hall or was it just in Dorian’s head? As it were his head was spinning, fervently denying what the woman said. But her eyes were rimmed with red, they had fear in them. The kind slaves showed when their masters made a public display of punishment. 

But what offense could Falon have caused in the few hours Dorian was away? He was passed out. Or had Dorian’s father finally lost it? Or was his mother scheming? 

Anger boiled away any sort of grief that had begun to settle into his heart. Like a well-tended to garden, the anger blossomed inside his chest as he narrowed his eyes. If his parents think he wouldn’t make much of a scene, they were dead wrong. 

“Who?” Dorian barked at the elf. He internally winced seeing how frightened she became. She quickly ducked her head and made herself small. 

“W-who what, Master?” 

“Who ordered it?” He wouldn’t even say the words. Perhaps because if he did, they’d be real. Falon would really be gone then. 

Evea looked around nervously. “Master Halward, my lord…” Without waiting for her to really finish, Dorian turned on his heel and headed for his father’s study. His back was rigid, and Evea wondered for a moment if he was going to kill his father. 

As she watched the young man storm away, her heart clenched. This was cruel even for a magister. Her masters were always kind to them. They loved their son, she knew. They wanted what was best for him. But they couldn’t see that Falon was good for their son… 

Tears began to seep from her eyes as Dorian disappeared from view. Her mind was replaying the scene over and over, each time she felt the whip herself. 

***** 

_The whip cracked loudly as it hit flesh. The Dalish’s breathing was becoming labored as he bit back a scream. He was struggling to keep standing under the pain. Before he had barely been lucid, now his eyes were bright and awake. Evea covered her mouth as another lash came._

 _This one brought the elf down to one knee. Blood would fly into the air every time they struck him. All of the slaves were huddled together, watching. Only Evea and Oswin knew truly why this was happening; the rest just knew this was an example of what could happen should they displease their masters._

 _

Knowing the truth didn’t settle her stomach though. It made her sick in truth. She felt him trying to pull his magic to him, but it was gone, poisoned. She wished he could somehow turn into a bird and fly away as another lash came. 

Finally, the Dalish broke, a cry slipping out. It wasn’t a laugh, it was a cry. She could see pain written across his features even before she heard him begin to whimper. Surely they would stop…But no. The lashes kept coming. She didn’t know what was worse: to watch the lashing, to see the bloody pulp of his back, or to hear a grown man begin to sob. 

She didn’t really believe in the Creators anymore than she believed in Andraste, but she knew a little from talking with Falon. Mythal, she was the protector, his patron god. Evea closed her eyes for a moment, and prayed to Mythal to show mercy, to save him. 

And as another lash landed on his back, she opened her eyes to see the Dalish’s eyes roll back into his head. She didn’t know if she should take that as a sign her prayer was heard or that Falon’s resolve had finally shattered…

_

***** 

As Evea remembered, her stomach churned again. Dorian was always kind. He may not have remembered her name a lot, but he was one of her better masters. She remembered him opening the gate for her, or letting her sneak something out of the kitchen when she had missed a meal. 

He deserved better than this. Her mind gave her images of the two, Dorian reading some book while Falon plucked the strings of the harp. She had heard he never wished to play music again, and yet she remembered listening on the other side of the door. The music sounded so happy, so calm and content. 

They deserved better. Her heart began to harden. Surely there was another way. Perhaps she could ask her mistress… Mistress Aine could not possibly hurt her son this much…There was no guarantee the ritual would work, and surely she would listen to reason… 

Without giving herself time to lose her resolve, Evea began to run towards her mistress’s study, tears beginning to bite her cheeks. 

***** 

Dorian didn’t even knock before throwing open the door to his father’s study. Oswin and Halward’s heads snapped up from whatever they were preparing. The slave quickly bowed, but his father frowned. 

“Dorian—“ He began like he was going to lecture him about manners. But Dorian’s glare hardened. 

“Falon.” He barked. His father’s face became devoid of emotion suddenly. He of course knew his son would become agitated from the disappearance of his elf. It seemed the magister had picked the fruit too late for there not to be any sort of damage. No matter, this would all smooth over soon. 

“Ah, I suppose you heard.” Halward said in a tone that oozed fake sympathy. That only served to piss Dorian off more. 

“Why? What could he have possibly done that warranted death, Father?!” He spat the word. A small ice spike lodged itself in his heart as his father sighed. Like he was disappointed Dorian was showing grief over something like a slave. 

Oswin shifted uncomfortably. Something wasn’t right. Dorian noted how the slave wouldn’t look at him. The old man was loyal as a Ferelden dog, but it was to the entire family, not just his father. Evea was the same way. And yet both of them were fidgety, like they had something unsavory on their minds… 

“It seems as though that Falon had orchestrated the plan to kidnap Adelina.” Dorian felt like he had gotten slapped again. 

“You can’t be serious.” Oh, yes, Falon thought of the whole plan. Including the part where he saved her, broke one of his ‘accomplices’’ legs, killed another one, and revealed that he was a mage. Dorian stated as much, dripping his voice in venom. 

“Do not underestimate his kind, Dorian.” Halward said in a voice reserved for lecturing small children about monsters under their bed. For a moment, Dorian wondered what would happen if he gave his father a mildly painful shock. “When Nhadya had recognized them, he knew the plan would go south, so he cut his losses. Turned on his accomplices.” 

Dorian shook his head. He didn’t know what was more amazing that his father believed any of that or that he thought Dorian would believe it. There was no way Falon could harm Adelina. He adored her far too much. Moreover, if he wanted to escape so badly, he could have just turned into a bug or something. Even though hunters would pursue him, if he wanted freedom bad enough to kidnap Adelina, he wouldn’t have really cared. 

Then there’s the fact that Falon didn’t seem capable of such treachery. Even when it came to Kalor, a man who Falon had every reason to hate and cheat, Falon didn’t seem to want revenge or anything. Hell the man could barely catch Dorian’s innuendos! But to lie that well? To kill an ally just because things went south? No. 

“His kind are snakes, my son, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Either I dealt with him now, or I risked your life.” His father’s voice snapped Dorian back into reality. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Risked my life? Oh yes, because Falon was just scheming on how best to kill me I’m sure.” Dorian growled. Could his father not hear himself talking? Was this all some cruel joke? Or a punishment for not singing the Chant that much? 

Halward frowned. “Or rather use you to escape Tevinter.” Dorian’s heart stopped for a moment. He eyed his father. Could he have known Dorian was going to take a trip South? “And when you get close to his pack or whatever they call themselves, you’d be killed.” 

Dorian’s head was spinning. How could his father had known? His eyes drifted to Oswin, the old man refusing to look at either of them. He supposed someone could have overheard them…but those conversations were whispered. And yet… 

His heart squeezed painfully. Had he caused this? Did Falon pay with his life for a mistake Dorian made? If he had taken far more precautions, or had just taken the elf and ran, would he still be alive? 

Halward watched quietly as the rage turned to grief and guilt on his son’s face. There was no doubt now; his son believed the elf was dead, whether because of Halward’s excuse or some other machination, he didn’t really care. Now he only had to wait so see what his son would do. 

Before Halward could walk around to comfort his son, Dorian turned back and left. 

***** 

“Mistress!” Evea’s frantic voice broke Aine’s concentration before the elf burst into her study. For a moment, Aine feared Adelina had fallen out a window…But then she looked over to find her daughter playing with her dolls on the floor with Nadya. She sighed with relief. 

“Yes, Evea?” She said calmly. The elf’s eyes were raw, making the woman wince. She was such an innocent spirit. Gracefully, Aine rose from her desk and walked around it. She held her arms open. 

More tears spilled down the elf’s cheeks as she walked into her mistress’s embrace. The mistress wrapped her slender arms around her like she would a child, stroking her back as she choked on sobs. 

Aine made little noises of comfort, not complaining that the girl was likely staining her robe. After all, this was their fault, her and Halward’s. The girl, while loyal, was far too kind hearted for this sort of scheme. She acted tough, sure, but in her hearts of hearts she was soft like velvet. Perhaps it stemmed from her previous masters, using her for their dirty work. 

Aine sighed into her hair. She had promised the young girl, she would never have to do that again. And yet here they were, asking her to lie through her teeth about a friend. 

“Nadya, would you take Adelina to her rooms?” Aine asked, as the elf’s sobs began to subside. The other slave nodded. Adelina looked up at her mother and then at Evea. 

“What’s wrong, Evea?” She asked quietly. Evea turned her head to look at the little girl with a broken smile. She prayed in her heart that her parents learned that there were things more important than reputations before the little bird had her wings clipped. 

“Nothing, little bird.” Evea croaked. Adelina cocked her head to the side. She obviously didn’t buy it. “It’s just been…a bad day is all.” 

The little girl seemed to accept that answer. She stood up and grabbed Evea’s hand. She smiled, flashing her little dimple. “When I have a bad day, Mommy lets me have a cookie from the kitchens.” 

Aine smiled down at her daughter. “That’s very thoughtful, Adelina. Why don’t you go with Nadya and get Evea one?” She knew her daughter would sneak one for herself even before the little girl got a mischievous look in her eyes. She quickly agreed and ran out the room with a tired slave following after her. “Now, Evea…is there something you wish to talk about?” 

Evea stepped back from her mistress, lowering her head. “Yes, Mistress…” Aine waited, leaning back on her desk with a patient look on her face. “About Falon…” 

The human sighed. “We’ve been over this Evea. Dorian would throw everything away for that elf…” 

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing, Mistress.” Evea tried to steel herself, to gain some sort of courage. “Isn’t it better for him to love someone at least once?” Her voice was quiet but she knew her master could hear her. 

Aine’s heart gave a sharp pain. Of course she wanted her child to be happy. But she also wanted him to reach his full potential. And sometimes those two things didn’t coincide. “And he has, has he not?” 

Evea snorted. “I don’t think Master Dorian realized he loved him. I don’t think either of them realized it.” And that’s what makes this even sadder. She didn’t say that, but she felt it. They didn’t even know what the other meant to them. And she feared if something didn’t change, they may never. 

“Is there a point you are getting at Evea?” Aine sighed. She could see where the girl was coming from. But she didn’t understand that as a parent sometimes you had to do things unsavory like this to get your child to see the light. They would be better off…she hoped. 

“I don’t like lying to Master Dorian…It feels wrong, all of this.” Slowly she brought her eyes to Aine’s. “I worry for him.” 

Aine gave a soft chuckle. “My dear there’s nothing to worry about—“ 

“When I told him that Falon was dead, I might as well have cut out his heart myself.” She interrupted. At this point, being lashed was the last thing on her mind. “I don’t think this is going to work. I think it’s just pushing him further from you and one way or another you are going to lose him completely.” 

Aine’s eyes hardened making the elf avert her eyes again. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Evea. I just asked for your silence.” She snapped out of habit. Then she took a breath and sighed. “I apologize.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Evea bowed. Aine waved her away. It was touching of course that the girl was worrying over Dorian, but Aine had told Halward nearly the same thing when she learned of this harebrained scheme. But he had convinced her this was their one chance to give Dorian the best future. 

As the door to her study shut again, Aine stood to look out her window. It was for her son, that’s what she told herself. Then why did her heart not feel right? 

***** 

A soft knock interrupted Dorian’s thoughts. He had been turning Falon’s necklace over in his hands for what seemed to be a few minutes, but his room was now dark. To think only yesterday he was worried about the elf killing himself, when in actuality he needed to fear his father killing the elf. 

The Altus sighed, setting the owl gently on his table and going to the door where another knock sounded. He opened it to find his mother and a slave holding a tray. 

“You missed dinner, my dear.” She tried to smile but it was hard when her son just looked…dead. 

Dorian’s eyes drifted to the food, and though his last meal was breakfast yesterday, he felt no hunger. “I’m not hungry.” His mother had taken a step into the room, making it impossible for him to close the door. So he just turned around and went back to his couch. 

“Skipping meals won’t help, my son.” She chastised lightly. _This is for the best…_ repeated in her head. Yet her heart squeezed as she walked to sit next to him. She noticed he had a pack sitting not far from him. The slave scuttled to place the tray down before leaving in the same manner. 

“I said I’m not hungry.” Dorian snapped. For a moment there was a flicker of anger in his eyes. Then it just faded too. He let out a long sigh. She had no hand in this, he was sure. She didn’t deserve his anger. “I apologize, Mother.” 

Aine suddenly felt the chasm between them. She realized she no longer really knew her son. This was not the boy of five that constantly was dirtying his clothes, or forgetting his manners. In a way, she wished he was. Then she could just grab him by his ear and order him to eat and to go along with anything. 

“Is there something you need, Mother?” He asked after a few minutes. He was again playing with the owl. His thumb could feel what was once writing on the back, but it was too worn to even discern the language. 

“You to eat, but that’s obviously going to go unfulfilled.” She sighed, trying to keep her smile. Dorian snorted. He knew he got his tongue from his mother. Aine eyed the necklace in his hands. He seemed entirely fixated on learning every bump of the wood. “What’s that?” She asked. 

“It’s Falon’s…was Falon’s.” He didn’t want to accept it still. And yet…it was over a day since he saw the elf. His head knew that meant he wasn’t coming back, this wasn’t some sick joke. But why did his heart hurt so much? Why didn’t his heart accept that? 

Aine gently touched his shoulder. He barely noticed as he turned the owl over to show his mother. She was astonished at the intricate carved bones. It was as beautiful as some of the carvings masters in Minrathous created. But with an elven twist. 

“His father made it for him when he became the apprentice of his grandmother.” Dorian couldn’t help recall all their conversations about each other’s worlds. It brought a sad smile to his face. “The owl was supposed to be the messenger of their gods, and the beads told some sort of tale…” Why couldn’t he recall it all? They had discussed it at length hadn’t they? 

“It certainly is beautiful, no matter the story.” She mumbled. She looked back up at her son’s face only to find his eyes starting to shine. Her heart clenched again. Was this pain worth the perfect son? 

Before she could think too much, she wrapped her arms around him. He had grown into a man without her noticing, but at that moment as a sob ripped out of him, he was her little boy again, crying over a broken toy. She winced thinking that. The elf was hardly a toy. He was a person that got caught up with the wrong people… 

Aine rubbed his back as he cried on her shoulder. First Felix, and now Falon. He was losing everything it seemed. And for the life of him, he couldn’t recall anything but Falon’s laugh, his smile, his eyes. He remembered falling asleep hearing him sing something in his gibberish language, and being nothing but content. Dammit all, he wasn’t supposed to die! 

That was his only thought. 

Dorian’s mind found some anger still left. He had to leave. There was just no way he could stand living with his father after…all this. After he killed Falon for no good reason, save for his wounded pride. 

“Everything will be better tomorrow…” Aine whispered, though she didn’t really feel that it would be. Either Dorian would lose that part of him that made him Dorian, or she’d lose him entirely. Holding her son in her arms for the first time in a long time, she could see very clearly. She was losing him either way. Perhaps she could try again to dissuade Halward… 

“No it won’t.” Dorian muttered just loud enough for her to hear. The one man that he…could have possibly potentially lov—cared for was dead. He had survived eight years of hell and was about to finally be free, and he was killed. Dorian didn’t even get to figure out the odd feeling he had whenever the elf smiled. It was all just gone. 

“It might…” Dorian pulled away to glare at her, showing her just how not okay he was. This wasn’t just going to vanish overnight. She sighed, fixing his hair like she did when he was a child. “Life is sometimes hard to understand, but things will get better, Dorian. I promise you. Soon you’ll be busy planning, and this will all be just a nightmare.” 

Dorian narrowed his eyes. Planning what? Don’t tell him…She was talking about his impending wedding? Did she really think he would go through with it? Especially now? “You can’t honestly believe that I’d possibly even consider going through with this wedding?” He hissed. Aine blinked as though his anger was mystifying. She wasn’t surprised, but she looked like it. Dorian stood up quickly. He gripped the owl in his fist, careful not to break it. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

“What?” Aine tried to keep her voice steady, but it still cracked. “Where could you possibly go?” 

“South. Falon’s family has a right to…to know what happened.” 

“And how are you going to get there? Walk? Darling, you barely have enough allowance to stay at a shady inn for three days let alone—“ 

“I’m not an idiot, Mother. I’ll figure something out.” In truth, Dorian had originally planned to smuggle Falon on board the ship. He was a shapeshifter after all. Surely he could pass as a guard dog, or even his own personal messenger raven. And Dorian had sold a few trinkets to be able to afford a room on the ship…just hadn’t bought the ticket yet. But now he had no need to smuggle anyone. 

Aine opened and closed her mouth. Was he serious? He was going to go South? Just to possibly find some hidden elven tribe in the woods? He’d be shot! Or ran through by a Templar! Or hopelessly lost… 

Dorian picked up the pack and began to head into his room just as she began to speak, her heart racing. “You can’t be serious. Dorian, they’d kill you on sight.” 

He gave her an icy gaze. “I’m doing this just as much for him as for myself.” She winced internally. “I refuse to be your pawn. I will not spend my entire life screaming on the inside just so you two can keep your pride intact.” 

And then he closed the door to his bedroom and locked it. Of course he knew there was no doubt a slave eavesdropping for his father, and no doubt that slave immediately ran to tell his father. But he remembered Falon saying that sometimes you have to lose something before you knew how much it meant. 

Dorian understood that phrase now. He just wished it hadn’t cost the elf. 

***** 

“Because he’s your son!” Aine screamed. She was at the end of her rope finally. She didn’t know what to do. But after seeing how despondent Dorian was, how angry, she began to see how this…this wasn’t going to fix anything. This plan had no guarantee to work, and even if it did…would he still be her son? 

Halward sighed loudly. “He would throw everything away for some childish fantasy.” He tried to stay calm, but it was quite apparent both were frayed. Tomorrow was the full moon, the time called for by the ritual, it was also the day the ship left. Halward had stationed guards outside his son’s chambers, locked his doors and posted a watch on his balcony as a precaution to Dorian doing anything stupid. 

Aine suddenly wanted to slap her husband. “How is love a fantasy, Halward?” She hissed. He snorted. 

“With an elf? The little forest dweller would only use him. Is it not better to save our son that disappointment?” True, she could not know the elf’s feelings. But her son? Evea’s words echoed inside her head as they had been for the past day. She could see it in his eyes when she looked; he fell for the elf. And like children will do, he fell hard. 

“Sometimes you have to let them scrape their knees, Halward, and figure things out. _On their own_ ” She emphasized. “You have no idea if this ritual of yours will even work! It may just turn him into a drooling heap on the ground!” 

Halward rubbed his temples. He was trying hard not to join her in screaming, but it seemed it was a losing battle. Aine was livid. As she spoke, she motioned a lot with her hands, her dark hair flying behind her like it was her own wings. 

“Yes it may not work, but is it not better to try and fail?” He growled. Her perfect eyebrows furrowed deeply. 

“Not when it comes to blood magic and our son!” She nearly picked up the glass decanter and tossed it at his head. She could feel lightning building up in the air around her. “You remember that he is your son, yes? The one that I spent nearly an entire day giving birth to? The little boy that you would have to tell stories to get him to go to sleep? The boy you told that blood magic was the resort of a weak mind?” She pointed an accusatory nail at him. “And you want to to to…potentially destroy him on the off-chance some blood ritual _might_ work? For your pride?” 

“For him.” Halward’s voice was like ice. Aine looked disgusted at him. He might believe that, but she knew better. She hadn’t been married to him for this long without figuring how he worked. 

“For him? Do you honestly believe that, Halward? When your son was _crying on my shoulder not a half hour ago!_ ” Lightning sparkled in the air around her, raising the hair on both of them. She was always like this, losing her head like some irrational teenager. 

“Enough, Aine.” Halward shouted. “You and Dorian may not see it as the best thing—“ 

“Because it isn’t, you idiot!” Acting on impulse she grabbed the decanter and threw it high above his head before storming out (quite literally as her magic was sparking dangerously around her). 

***** 

Aine stroked her daughter’s hair as she slept peacefully. Adelina was still young enough to hold such innocence, but old enough to begin to see the evil in the world. She thought back to the little argument that lead to Lavellan coming to their house. She saw things so clearly, heard her heart so clearly. 

In a way, Aine wished she stayed that way. That her heart would always lead her, rather than society. If they all did, then Aine wouldn’t be there watching her daughter slumber as she tried to sort through her thoughts. 

Dawn was breaking, orange breaking through the window’s curtains. The house was quiet, the calm before the storm it seemed. Or perhaps it seemed that way since inside was anything but quiet. 

She wanted what was best for her children. Dorian could become a great Archon one day. But she also knew his sexual orientation would hinder him in his life, and possibly prevent him from reaching that lofty position. So it seemed to be simple choice: to fix him and make sure he has the best life or to keep him as him and subject him to the world. And yet, it wasn’t simple. This wasn’t something to fix. He wasn’t something to fix as he wasn’t broken. And if she tried to fix him…wasn’t she taking a large part of him away? 

Wasn’t she breaking him? She wondered what Dorian would be like. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t frequent houses of ill repute. Perhaps he would marry Livia. Perhaps he would become Archon. But…would he be a fighter? The Magisterium was a blood bath; in order to survive there you have to quite willing to fight for your life. She remembered all the times they fought with him. He was stubborn, fiery, both good qualities when it came to a position that changed laws and morals. 

She smiled. Her daughter was turning out just like him actually. Only less of a social butterfly. Perhaps someday she’ll have as quick a tongue as him. 

Aine sighed for the hundredth time. There were too many what ifs in her head for her to feel all right with the ritual. She didn’t know if it would succeed, and if it did, if her son would still be himself. 

As she gazed down on Adelina, she wondered what would happen if she did let Halward go through with this, and sometime down the line, Adelina wouldn’t match their perfect little mold. Would he do the same to her? What’s another blood ritual? Soon they’d be holding parties with sacrificial slaves as the main attraction, why not? 

Did she really care about their reputation? More than their morals? Halward had once promised he would never use blood magic. And though at this moment she despised the man, he was all she had as a partner. 

She frowned. She’d be damned if she was going to let that idiot screw everything up because his son happened to be happily gay. If Dorian was dying and the only way to save him was with blood magic, she might let him be an idiot. But this? This was blind stupidity. 

As the sun crested over the horizon, Aine knew exactly what she had to do. And that she had little time to do it. 

***** 

Pain. It hurt to breathe, like the air was fire. It was like he was _on_ fire. Everywhere hurt as he regained his mind. Or did he? 

He tried to open his eyes, but all he saw was black. He could feel his eyelashes brush his cheeks as he blinked. It still didn’t change. Nothing but darkness was around him. He tried to move but found his arms bound to his side, his legs…well they were numb and prickly so he wasn’t so sure he wanted to move them. 

He turned his head, hearing chains rattle each time he did so. His heart began to pound, dimming the pain. 

What had happened? 

***** 

Aine’s heels clicked loudly on the stone, like she was walking on bones. Evea walked behind her as they made their way to the cells. Thankfully this area wasn’t used much; many cell doors rusting or growing cobwebs like hair. But they didn’t need these cells. 

Ahead two guards were posted outside a solid wood door. That was the one they need. Everything was set. Aine was putting all her coins on this plan, hoping nay praying she had the winning hand. She hadn’t even looked at her cards yet… 

“Stand aside.” She barked as the two guards stood at attention. 

They shared a look. “Mistress Aine, Magister Halward said we weren’t to—“ The one of the left spoke. 

“I do not care what my foolish husband said.” Evea even jumped at the amount of venom the petite woman put into her voice. The elf almost expected to see fangs dripping in toxin coming from her mistress’s mouth, or scales… “Plans change. He is needed now.” 

The two guards shifted uncomfortably at the cold gray eyes looking like she might incinerate them at any moment. Then one nodded and began to unlock the door. His hands shook horribly, making it harder, but finally the door opened. 

“Good, now leave.” She spat. 

“But Mistress, do you not need hel—“ A slap sounded through the air. She could hear chains rattle as though someone was startled. The guard touched his cheek gingerly. She might be over doing this, but she needed to get them away. Moreover, she needed to seem like she was entirely fed up with all this. 

“I can lift a solid metal grate without any aid, boy. I think I can handle a half-starved slave.” She morphed her beauty into something terrifying. The guards ducked their heads, knowing they had displeased her and that meant a cut in pay. “Away from my sight.” She dismissed them with a flick of her hand as she waltzed passed them into the cell. 

Evea slid passed them, trying hard not to be noticed that much. Her heart was beating a thousand times faster than it should. She was happy, but she was far more frightened. What if they get caught? Or this plan doesn’t work? 

But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the cell, she found a familiar head of red. He was tilting his head as though to hear better. She let out a sigh of relief and ran to his side in the dirt. It was only up close that she noticed he had his muzzle back on, his arms bound by chains and straps that connected to the walls by special chains that inhibited magic. 

“Falon,” She breathed. He turned towards her, eyes blinded by a piece of fabric. Her fingers shook as she undid the knot. The Dalish hissed at the light hitting his sensitive eyes, but he was glad for it. He wasn’t blind, and this wasn’t the Beyond at least. 

Aine hesitantly knelt beside him and began to work at the muzzle’s straps. She could feel him questioning her with his eyes, but they had to work fast. Hopefully he’ll be able to stand at least… 

Falon worked his jaw as the contraption fell from his mouth. “Fasta vas!” He immediately groaned. The corners of his mouth were raw from rubbing on metal. “What the hell is going on?” He glared at Aine. She deserved it yes. 

“Many things, Lavellan.” Evea muttered. Her fingers worked at the straps around his torso. She could see blood staining his back, almost enough for her to remember the scene that caused them. 

“Obviously. How about we try explaining it to me?” He growled. He had woken up an hour after Dorian had left to some guards entering the room. He remembered saying that Dorian had gone out, and then one of them grabbed ahold of him and tried to shove magebane in his mouth. Then he managed somehow to punch him and grab his dagger and stab another in the arm. Which in retrospect wasn’t the wisest of choices. But he was still suffering from his trip to the Fade and didn’t really think. And he just remembered getting dosed with magebane and then being whipped… 

So any explanation at this point would be better than what he had. 

“Halward, my husband, if you do not take Dorian far away from here, will…perform a blood ritual to change him.” She paused as shock came over the elf’s face. “And you will be the sacrifice.” Aine explained as they got most of the bindings off. Falon hissed loudly as some straps were practically peeled off his back. 

She glanced at it and even in the dim light of the door, she could tell his back was little more than pulverized meat. But when she looked back at his face, it wasn’t contorted with pain but disbelief and a fair amount of anger. 

“What?” She couldn’t have said what she just said…Sure the magister was less than reasonable with Dorian, but blood magic? Aine’s face however was desperate, worried. 

“Halward wishes to change Dorian, and the ritual requires a sacrifice, and as you are…” She struggled to find a word, “close to my son, he figured he could kill two birds with one stone.” 

Falon nearly started laughing. It just sounded ridiculous. Something out of a novel, a horror story, some weird dream from the Beyond. But then he felt the pain in his back and realized that he wasn’t asleep. 

“Where is Dorian?” He asked. Why save the slave? Why wouldn’t you just go for your son, tell him and ship him off to some distant relative? Falon eyed the mistress. 

Evea cut in, beginning to heal as much of his back as she could. Much of it was becoming infected so she had to divert a lot of attention to that rather than closing the gashes. “That’s where you come in, Dalish.” He glanced back at her. “He should still be in his rooms, but there are two guards posted outside to prevent him from leaving.” 

Aine removed the last of the chains from his legs. She gently started to heal his legs, though to Falon it felt like being in an ice bath. Why didn’t these people know how to do proper healing spells? When they were done, Aine looked him straight in the eyes. 

“I need you to take my son away from here.” Falon blinked a few times, unsure he had heard her correctly. “If you go out the back gate, you’ll find a pack with some supplies and passage on the ship bound for Ostwick inside. Take it and Dorian. Please.” Her voice was nearly begging him at the end. “I’ll handle Halward; I promise you there will be no hunters coming after you.” 

It sounded perfect. But there was one thing bothering him. Why? If Halward wanted the perfect son, wouldn’t she want that too? “Why are you doing this?” He asked quietly as they helped him to his feet. His body swayed. He suddenly became aware of the emptiness of his stomach that made him dizzy. He hadn't had water or food for nearly two days it seemed. Could he honestly fight two guards? 

“I’d rather have a son who is gay, than a son who is a stranger.” Aine whispered, but it had a firmness to it that no one could argue. Falon smiled at her. She finally got it. Now the magister was another story. 

Falon took a deep breath, wincing as he felt his back ache. It was stupid to try and shift, the magic would seep into the wounds and make them near impossible to heal…but… He thought about Dorian. If he really was going to be subjected to a blood ritual, something Falon knew all too well… 

His heart hammered for a moment. Not from fear, but from a primal rage. Like a wolf whose pack is under attack. Away from the chains, he could feel his magic. Without wasting another moment, Falon got himself into a run, turning down the corridor. His magic pooled around him, shifting and morphing him. 

Four legs were quicker than two in the closed hallway. His nose followed Aine’s scent backwards, navigating the maze of hallways. They had left the doors slightly ajar for him apparently as he barreled through one into the main part of the house. 

His hackles rose as he kept playing his whipping in his head. He had begged and pleaded to the Creators to save him. He didn’t understand at the time. Whatever power he had found was taken away. And all those thoughts fueled his anger, pushing harder. 

Somewhere a bell tolled eight, the city awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get to all the things I wanted to in this chapter. But I wanted to get this out to relieve the evil cliffhanger I left with. Next is Nothing so the next chapter will be delayed a bit unless Falon decides to be nice.


	15. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets schooled on healing magic and they have a serious discussion about what "they" are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold the fluff! I'm going to crawl under a rock now...
> 
> Some elven you'll need for this chapter (I'll try to do this more often, though it's not perfect since there's only a few canon phrases): 
> 
> Ar lasa mana eth: You are now safe
> 
> Ma'revas: My freedom (it won the debate)
> 
> seth'lin: thin blood

The bells shut out all other noise. Dorian had been awake for at least half an hour, getting ready. He had found guards at his door and below his balcony…of course. So he had to figure out how to get passed them. 

He sat on his bed, fiddling with Falon’s necklace again. His head told him to stop before he wore all the carvings away, but whenever he put it in his pack he felt empty somehow. Idiotic and irrational feelings aside, Dorian worked his mind. There had to be some way… 

As the last bell echoed throughout Minrathous, Dorian heard another noise. This one was far closer. Something similar to a growl…But they didn’t have a dog. He didn’t know anyone who had a dog like some Ferelden lord… 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows and walked into his front room, watching the doors. He strained to hear something in the silence. Then the doors to his rooms slammed against the lock making him jump. The guards yelled. Armor clanked, obvious sounds of a scuffle. The door slammed a few more times before silence returned. 

His heart hammered, like on the other side of that door was a demon. He held his breath, awaiting some inhuman growl or a creature of molten lava to come through the door. 

What he got was frantic knocking. Fear made him freeze in place. An icy grip seized his spine as he stared at the door handle jiggling. Something was hitting the door with an open palm. Were they under attack? Or was this another part of his father’s plot? Get him to open the door and then hired thugs would throw him into a gunnysack and cart him off to the countryside? 

“Peacock, open the door!” Dorian’s heart stopped. That was a voice he didn’t think he’d hear again. But Falon was dead… “Peacock don’t tell me you are still asleep! I can smell you on the other side!” 

Dorian’s legs moved of their own accord. _Could he really smell him through the door?_ was oddly his only thought as he touched the handle. Either this was a dream or Dorian had dreamed the last three days… 

Blood pounded in his ears as he unlocked the door. His hands were shaking. His breathing was shallow and his heart was beating far too fast to be safe. Carefully he cracked open the door. 

To find familiar turquoise eyes staring back at him. That was all he needed to throw open the door and grab the elf. If this was a dream, Dorian didn’t want to wake up. He hugged the elf to his chest, afraid that if he let go, he’d disappear. 

Falon chuckled despite adrenaline coursing through his body. “Good to see you too, Peacock, but I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time.” 

Dorian didn’t seem to hear him as he pulled back. The Altus’s face was pale, but he was smiling. Till he took note of the gash across Falon’s face that was still bleeding. “Are you…why are you bleeding?” He asked before catching sight of the guards unconscious on the ground. “Why are the guards unconscious? What are you doing here, you’re supposed to be dead?” The questions spilled from his lips like water. 

Falon was panting, trying not to feel the pain that was everywhere or the dizziness. His back was agony, and that knife had nearly got his eye. Still he managed to smile for his human’s confusion. “I know you have a lot of questions, but we really got to go, Dorian.” Falon’s hand shook as he took Dorian’s wrist and tugged. “Like now.” 

“You can’t expect me to—“ 

“I’ll answer everything when we’re on the boat.” He gave another forceful tug. Dorian’s furrowed his eyebrows. Was he really going to go with a man that should be dead? After all, this could be another of his father’s tricks…Or a demon of the Fade… 

One of the guards groaned on the ground, making Falon look down. His eyes turned predatory as he waited for the man to try and get up. When he did, the elf punt kicked his temple. “Seriously, I don’t want to slap your pretty shemlen face, but I will if that’ll snap you out of this.” Falon’s heart was beating a thousand times a minute. 

If he had strength he would pick the Altus up and throw him over his shoulder and make a run for it. As things were, Falon could barely keep himself upright. If it were not for the fear of getting caught, or the anger at that idiot magister, Falon might have passed out by now. But he kept his eyes locked with Dorian’s, willing him to just trust him. 

“Wait a moment.” Dorian finally said, pulling his arm from the elf’s grasp. Falon instinctively tried to reach for him again, but the human had already turned back into his room. Falon bit his lip, looking up and down the hallway. He kept magic inside his ears and nose, heightening them to wolf-like clarity, to detect even the slightest change. 

He could hear a pack rustling, Nadya waking up Adelina down the hall, slaves hurrying to make breakfast… 

“Alright then.” Dorian said as he came back with his pack slung over his shoulder. In his other hand was a cloak. In a fluid motion he put it around Falon, clasping it at the shoulder. “There, you shouldn’t draw too much attention…” 

Falon looked down at the soft fabric. It smelt like Dorian, so much so he couldn’t smell anything passed it. Of course he had the sense of smell of a dog…Still it calmed him some. Quickly though, he grabbed the human’s wrist and began to head for the servant stairs. Dorian kept quiet as the elf lead him. 

He was still waiting for the elf to turn into a desire demon or a despair demon or something. But he couldn’t say that he minded the illusion. He got to hold him, hear him. It was all he could hope for. Well, he did wish the elf didn’t smell like blood, dirt, and sweat, but he wasn’t going to complain too much. 

As they made their way to the back of the house, Dorian twisted his hand to hold Falon’s. The elf glanced back, but loosened his grip enough to slide down to Dorian’s hand. For some reason, his hand quivered as Dorian fell into step beside him. He wasn’t sure if it was from exertion or hunger or adrenaline, but Dorian was afraid he’d pass out… 

“Why are we going out the back gate?” He asked as they snuck to the gardens. Falon glanced around before darting to the gate. There were sounds coming from the mansion, sounds that told him to run. Shouts and people running. He looked behind the two statues and sure enough behind one was the pack Aine had mentioned. So it wasn’t a trap… 

Falon let out a sigh of relief as he dug around and found the tickets. “There’s a guard posted in front, and this way,” He opened the gate with a slight metallic squeak, “we can avoid the morning crowds.” Dorian glanced down at the pack. Where did he get that? When did he get that? How did he get that? Did he have an outside connection that stole tickets and supplies or something? 

Just as he was about to ask, a sudden gust of wind whipped around them. Dorian’s eye caught sight of angry red from underneath the cloak. He tightened his grip on Falon and pulled him to a stop. 

Falon’s heart stuttered as he saw Dorian begin to lift the fabric. “Peacock, the ship’s not going to wait for us…” His shaky voice managed to stop the Altus. He frowned before taking Falon’s pack himself. 

“Don’t think I’m going to drop this Falon, any of this.” He warned. Falon smirked sadly, knowing he had a lot of explaining to do when they got on the boat. Which clenched his stomach at the thought. Great, two things that made him sick: bad memories and open waters… 

***** 

Dorian flicked up Falon’s hood as they neared the port. He was suddenly very thankful the elf’s hair was the color of blood since there was no way to hide the scabbing wound on his face. At least in the shadow of the hood, it could look like it was his hair. 

Both their hearts were pounding. Falon’s because he was going home, and Dorian’s because he was leaving home. He felt like he was becoming a fugitive, running away. He supposed he was as he was aiding a slave in escaping. But it was really the other way around. Still, the elf gripped his hand tightly, and suddenly Dorian didn’t mind the consequences. 

The captain and first mate were the ones that took the tickets. They gave Falon an odd glance as if judging by his height and lanky build he was an elf. Then they turned to Dorian. But neither mentioned anything. Their tickets were paid for and that’s all that mattered to them. Besides the less they knew, the less trouble there’d be. 

The duo was lead below deck to a private cabin. A bed, if you could call it that, was built from the wall on one side and a desk was on the other side. There was a single port hole, but little else in the small quarters. But at least they had their own room and a door. 

Dorian shut the door as Falon staggered to the bed. The ship wasn’t even moving and he already felt sick. Had they been in any other situation other than this, Dorian would have teased him. As it were however, he felt worry. If the elf got sick, he couldn’t or wouldn’t eat and judging by his pale complexion and shakiness, he couldn’t afford not to eat. 

“Now…” Dorian began as he walked the few feet to Falon. Carefully he ran his hand through his hair, pushing the hood off. “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?” Dried blood covered Falon’s face, marring his tattoos along with the dirt and grime. It was hard to tell what was the cut and what was just blood. 

Dorian rubbed a thumb against some blood, earning him a hiss. “Ouch, Peacock, it’s still fresh you know.” Falon quipped. The human rolled his eyes before looking to see if there was a wash basin or something. 

He didn’t find a basin, but he did find a rag on the desk near the corked ink embedded into the wood. It’ll have to work he supposed. With a little ice magic and then a little fire magic, Dorian wet the rag and began to wash away the blood. 

Falon sat there quietly, wincing and hissing. Soon Dorian could clearly see the cut running from the corner of his jaw, across the bridge of his nose, and jumping across to cut his eyebrow like the blade had glanced off his nose and eye socket to avoid damaging the eye. However, the luck of the elf wasn’t his concern. 

The tugging of his skin had managed to open the wound back up. Dorian cursed, wiping away the drop of blood gently. “I don’t suppose you would consider casting your healing spell on yourself anytime soon?” 

Falon shook his head. “It wouldn’t work.” Dorian furrowed his eyebrows as he sat beside him. The elf kept his body turned towards him, avoiding having his back near him. Pain was starting take hold of his mind, pulsing with each breath. It was enough to make him wish he were dead. 

“It’s healing magic, what are you talking about?” 

Falon forced himself to focus on Dorian’s eyes, his hands as they held his face. “I take my energy and give it to other cells, right? When I heal? Well, if I take my energy, the energy in my own cells, and give it to my own cells…” He trailed off as Dorian nodded. He supposed that was a little redundant and counter-productive. “Perhaps you can give healing a shot if you are that worried.” 

Dorian blinked, taking his hands back. He can’t be serious. Dorian heal? The _necromancer_ actually try to _heal_ someone? What a mad thought. Falon chuckled seeing Dorian’s disbelief. 

“You are a mage, healing spells should be one of your top spells, ma’revas.” Dorian narrowed his eyes at the foreign words. “Come, try.” Falon smiled as he grabbed one of Dorian’s hands and placed it back on his face. “I would very much like to kiss you, but as it is it hurts to smile.” 

He supposed that was as close to flirting Falon was ever going to get, but it did make his heart flutter a bit. Dorian couldn’t seem to argue at this point, not when the elf was being so damn…affectionate, batting his eyelashes, leaning heavily against Dorian’s hand. He was surely doing it on purpose. 

“Kaffas,” Dorian grumbled before he tried to recall the one healing spell he knew. As the magic started to pull at the elf’s wound, Falon jerked away. It was like a small frozen hornet was attempting to sew his face shut. “What? You asked me to heal you.” Dorian frowned. 

“Your spell feels wrong.” The elf pouted in his defensive. “Forced and cold. I’m not a corpse you know.” 

“At this moment at least.” Dorian muttered. “Let’s hope we don’t have need for my specialty, hmm?” 

The Dalish chuckled before standing up. All his blood rushed out of his head, and his legs turned to jelly. He could feel the ship sway with the waves though, glancing out the window, he knew they had not left port. He staggered to the desk, knuckles turning white as they gripped the edge for dear life. 

The ink cork popped open after he retrieved a quill and paper from the drawer. Falon had to blink a few times to clear his vision. His head was spinning from the emptiness in his stomach and his back burned as he hunched over. His hand shook as he began to write out the spell he had learned, which was hard as he translated elven into trade tongue. 

“May I ask what you are doing?” 

“I’m going to teach you how to do a proper healing spell, ma’revas.” Falon glanced back before again focusing on the paper. Dorian made an indignant noise like he was offended. When the elf was done, he corked the ink and staggered back to the bed. His breathing was a bit more labored, his heartrate much faster. 

Before he could stop him, Dorian undid the clasp on the cloak, pushing it away to look at what was no doubt a grizzly sight. The Altus gave a hiss. It was like something gouged his entire back. Though the wounds were open, they were not bleeding which he supposed was good; Dorian was surprised he couldn’t see his spine, surprised and relieved. 

“I’m…sorry.” Dorian whispered sadly. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you weren’t the one who ordered me lashed, nor the one who did it, Peacock.” Falon managed to smile. 

“But my father—“ 

“Is a daft seth’lin.” Falon tried hard to keep the anger out of it, but some still slipped out making Dorian look at him oddly. The elf sighed. “Here, try this spell and I’ll tell you everything.” He all but shoved the paper into his hands. 

Dorian glanced over it; the letters were shaky and rather sloppy like a child had written them. Which he supposed was to be expected. Falon’dir probably had more experience writing elven. But he could still read the words at least. Adelina sometimes squashed everything together into one incoherent blur… 

He read over the words a few times, noting that it was indeed a different spell. It was more like a prayer but in arcana. “Some advice, Peacock,” Falon mumbled, wondering how the human would fare with the spell. It was an entirely different concept than what he learned apparently. “You should relax and just be…open? I guess?” 

Dorian blinked a few times with a cocked eyebrow. Right. Open. The Altus took a few breaths before holding Falon’s face in his hands. He read the words aloud, suddenly feeling like he was an apprentice once more. After he got the hang of the words, he called his magic into the spell. 

A gentle orange glow enveloped his hands, warm like a summer’s rain. It didn’t smell like Falon’s woods or rain, more like sweet smoke from a fire. The elf sighed contently, his eyes fluttering closed. The magic felt like a small spider weaving his skin back together. It was shaky and sometimes would get too hot as Dorian struggled to regulate the amount of magic the spell needed. But it was much better than whatever healing spell the magisters used. 

Then the warmth left and Falon opened his eyes again. “My, you are a natural.” He smiled. Dorian was blinking like he wasn’t sure what just happened. The gash was now a pale pink line, which was good for a first try. 

“That…was different…” The Altus got out. The elf laughed. 

“Good different?” 

Dorian wasn’t sure. He was used to casting spells, drawing on the Fade that was connected to him. But this? It was like he _was_ the Fade. Or had it inside him. What was even more confusing was that it wasn’t like Falon’s magic which was calm, earthy, and cool. 

“Does…every Keeper have a different…” He paused trying to think of the word. “Flavor of magic or something?” Dorian didn’t know if that was the correct way to phrase it but the elf chuckled, nodding. 

“Every person has a different energy about them, so their magic is different as well. If they are trained to use their own magic more than the Beyond’s. Grandmother’s is…constantly moving, and it…energizes you like you could do anything after she heals you. Yours seems to be…fiery, warm, safe.” 

Safe was the last word Dorian would’ve used to describe it. But Falon always fell asleep near a fire; it was comfort to him. It was safe. It was home to him. Besides being surrounded by warmth was nearly everyone’s favorite thing in the winter. Nothing was cozier than curling up near a fire in the dead of winter. 

“You’ll need to practice, though.” Falon teased. “You put a bit too much magic behind it at times, which hinders the healing process.” Dorian snapped out of his thoughts to frown at the elf. Everyone was a critic. “Well, I should have plenty of practice with your back. Turn around.” Falon winced. 

“They aren’t going to heal well, Peacock, if at all.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Falon sighed, “Well, in order to get to you in time, I had to shift into a wolf. And when you shift, you…put magic into your cells to make them change. Injuries are filled with magic that sticks to the cells? So trying to magically heal them becomes difficult…” 

“Because there’s a barrier of magic blocking the wound.” Dorian finished, nodding. Then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Get to me in time? In time for what?” 

Falon shifted a bit, figuring now was as good a time as any to tell him the whole story. So he did. During the tale, the ship began to set sail, making Falon even more nauseous. He had to stop a few times to try and not vomit. As he told the tale, Dorian’s face was stone. Until Falon told him about the blood ritual then it became appalled. 

“Wait, so you’re telling me, my father was going to sacrifice you in an attempt to change…me? All because I won’t pretend for him?” Falon winced at how horrified and sad Dorian sounded. Then Dorian snorted. Of course his father wouldn’t care that he was changing his son, or that he could have killed him. Anything for his fucking legacy. Maker forbid Dorian was anything but his perfect little puppet… 

Falon bit his lip, watching as anger began to creep into Dorian’s features. He couldn’t exactly offer empathy. His father never tried something so horrendously stupid because he was gay. Granted his mother did once bribe him with a new robe to get him to kiss a huntress. Which was okay because the huntress Falon chose was a friend and even laughed when he told her the situation. They reached a mutual agreement of if Falon got to kiss her, he would craft her some potions that made sex so much better. Win win. 

But that was hardly like this. 

“What of my mother?” Dorian growled, snapping Falon out of his thoughts. 

“She was the one who set me free, so don’t be angry at her.” Falon said quietly as he slid closer to the human. He entwined their fingers together as he got into Dorian’s field of vision. “Ar lasa mana eth.” Slowly he pressed their lips together. He still wasn’t used to the feel of the human’s moustache, making him chuckle into the kiss as Dorian began to try and make it much deeper. 

Falon pulled away with a smile. “Don’t tempt me, ma’revas.” 

***** 

A few days on the sea, and Falon was once again sicker than a dog. Whatever that meant. Point was he stayed in the cabin, trying to nurse food down his throat as Dorian did his best at playing nursemaid. 

Sometimes Dorian would attempt to heal his back, chipping away at the magic in the wounds. Other times he helped him go sleep, or eat food. It was rather like watching the man wither away really. Which made Dorian more determined to get the elf to eat more. The only time Falon got up was to answer nature’s call, and just that exertion was enough to make him light headed. 

“You really should think about coming above deck with me.” Dorian muttered as the elf settled back on his side. He kept his back to the wall. Dorian couldn’t really blame him, not when that was his most vulnerable area at the moment. “It might help clear your head.” 

“Or make me lose three-fourths of my dinner.” Falon quipped. His stomach wouldn’t stay still it seemed. It was heavier now that he had eaten, but that wasn’t a good thing. Dorian chuckled as he sat their tray on the desk. The elf managed to eat about half today; it was nowhere near what he needed to not be so skeletal, but it was a start. 

“And this stuffy room won’t?” Falon just snorted in reply as Dorian went back to sitting on the bed. “It’s not that bad, promise. Just think about it, yes?” The human ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the elf. He didn’t really know what to do to help him. The living wasn’t his forte. 

“I’ll think about it, Peacock.” Falon’s hair was a mess, dirty and he couldn’t wait to get off the boat so he could take a bath and get all the prison dirt off him. Granted he managed to wipe a lot of it off his body, but still his hair was a tangled mess. Which reminded Dorian as the elf pushed his hair away from his eyes. 

He had completely forgotten about them…Dorian grabbed his pack and rummaged through it. Nestled in between some spare robes lay his prize, which he took out with a grin. “Here, I do believe these are yours.” 

Falon blinked. The golden comb and his necklace lay in the human’s hand wrapped by Adelina’s seashells. His heart stuttered as he looked at them and then at the human. He hadn’t really remembered he did not have them. The only thing that mattered was running, but looking at them, Falon suddenly felt naked. 

Hesitantly he took them with a small smile. “Heh, did you read my mind or something, Peacock?” 

Dorian snorted. “Hardly; I just am tired of pulling knots from your head.” He paused to let the elf sit up. “And they are yours, you should have them.” He watched the elf as he froze the comb before letting it melt, the teeth dripping with water. 

For a moment Dorian thought once again he was in a dream as Falon comb his hair. The water turned it to a dark auburn, covering the gold highlights into faint oranges. Soon it looked about as well-kept as it could before Falon began to braid it simply. He had tied one end of the seashells somewhere and braided them as well. 

“If you keep watching me like that, I might get a bad idea in my head.” Falon mumbled as he glanced up once. It was like the human was trying his damnedest to memorize him. The human laughed at his teasing tone. And at the slight blush coming over the elf’s face. 

“And just how am I looking at you?” 

Dorian lifted the other’s head up with his fingers, his best challenging grin on his face. The elf glared adorably like he was trying to be stern. “You know how you are looking at me.” 

“Hmmm, I don’t think I do.” 

Falon huffed, as his face continued to heat up. “Like you are memorizing every part you can see.” He spoke very fast just to get it over with. 

“And parts I can’t…” Dorian mumbled alluringly. Falon’s heart stuttered at that. But outwardly he just narrowed his eyes as he settled back on his side. An ice spell was keeping his back numb enough for him live with it, just a dull thud of pain whenever he focused on it. He was quite glad he couldn’t see it; just the memory of getting it hurt to think of, but to actually see it… 

“So what did your mother give us exactly?” Falon asked just to change the topic away from him and his body. Dorian sighed dramatically, though he still had his smile on his face. 

“As far as I have looked: we have your daggers, you have some new clothes, a coin pouch with an amount I’ve yet to count, blankets, water skins, and oddly enough some tea things.” Dorian rattled off the contents he had found when he sorted through it one night he couldn’t sleep. Falon’s eyebrows raised. 

The woman knew enough about Falon to give him tea things…A smile broke on his face. That was a kind gesture for a magistera. Dorian seemed to take note of Falon’s happiness as he snorted loudly. “She could have at least given me a bottle or two of brandy for this trip. I think I might die if I have to drink the swill the serve here.” 

Falon chuckled lightly. “I’ve seen you guzzle down worse ‘swill’ in that rundown tavern before, Peacock.” 

“That was an acquired taste. Besides after the first few drinks, your mouth becomes numb and you can’t taste it anymore.” 

“I still wouldn’t give it to my wolf to drink. And she would eat intestines and deep mushrooms.” 

Dorian vaguely recalled Falon talking about his pet wolf awhile back. Though that time seemed so long ago, almost like another lifetime despite the fact that it had only been a few months. “Sula’sa if I remember correctly, yes?” 

Dorian’s breath caught at how happy and excited the redhead looked. It was like giving Adelina candy before dinner. “Yes. I’m surprised you remembered her.” Falon whispered. Dorian gave a fake frown. 

“And how could I forget the wolf pup you adopted after finding her mother and siblings dead? It was a rather sad tale.” 

Falon chuckled as Dorian moved to lay on his side as well. The cabin was getting darker as the sun set, the waves calming to the human. Much like being rocked to sleep whenever he had a cold as a child. The elf was still pale from sea sickness, but at least he had managed to keep his dinner down. 

“I’ve told you many tales about my Clan; I do not expect you to remember them all.” 

“Well, aren’t you lucky that I am skilled at remembering?” Dorian mocked. Falon snickered to himself before moving so he was closer to the human. 

“Very lucky.” Falon breathed in the space between them before he closed it with a kiss. It started out slow, innocent enough. Then he pulled back to take a steadying breath, his head becoming cloudy. A flicker of pain crossed his back as he pushed Dorian’s shoulder down with the next kiss. He moved to lean over him, using the leverage to gain better access to his mouth. 

A sweet and gentle burn settled in his stomach as the human gave a soft sigh. Creators how long had it been since he felt this way? Eight years suddenly seemed like an eternity. Their kiss began to get more feverish, feral, but still slow and sweet. Dorian was afraid if he moved too fast like he wanted to, the elf would panic. Not that he blamed him, more like a specific rogue slaver bait. 

Dorian slid his hands around the elf, careful not to touch his back. Which was hard; it left very little places for his hands to rest. But as the elf raked a hand through Dorian’s hair, he didn’t really care where his hands ended up. He settled for Falon’s hips as the elf’s tongue battled against his. 

However when his hand settled over Falon’s right hip, the elf gave a slight flinch, like he had caused him pain, the kiss stopping for a moment. Dorian immediately pulled away his hand and twisted back. 

The elf had a guilty look on his face like he had ruined it as Dorian looked down where his hand had been. He couldn’t see an injury. “Did I hurt you?” He asked, looking into Falon’s eyes…which were beginning to get their feline-glint in the dying light. 

Falon sighed, breath fanning over Dorian’s face. He settled back down next to Dorian, propped up on his elbow, who turned to continue to watch him. “No.” Both had a burning in their bodies, but these were just little embers, just foreplay. 

“Then why did you flinch?” Dorian asked skeptically. If the elf was lying just to be stubborn… Falon gave another guilty look, as he messed with the sheets between them. 

“Reflex I suppose.” He mumbled. Silently he hooked a thumb on his pants hem and pulled them down enough to show his slave mark. “It hurt like hell when I got it. And when it was still healing, Kalor would use that pain if I did something he didn’t like.” Falon shrugged despite it hurting to even remember that. 

Dorian frowned at the mark. He knew enough about how slaves were dealt with to know part of the brand stood for the date he reached the slave house, which slave house he was from, and then the mark of his masters. Thankfully, his family did not practice branding their slaves like Falon’s first master had. 

Quietly, Dorian laid his hand over it, rubbing the welted mark with his thumb. He wished he could erase every bad memory, every touch, every word against Falon with just that movement. It was a foolish thought, perhaps a childish thought, but it was there nonetheless. 

Falon concentrated on the gentle feeling, easing his body away from tensing back up. He concentrated on the warmth coming from his hand, the warmth that was so close to him. He laid down on his side with a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Hey, Dorian?” he said after a while. “You seemed to take me not being dead quite well all things considered.” 

Dorian glanced down at Falon’s eyes, hand pausing. Again he thought he would wake up and those glinting eyes would be gone once more. The slightly cool skin under his hand would just vanish if he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could bear that. 

“To be honest, I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream.” Dorian laughed in a self-mocking way. Falon snickered as he moved close enough for their noses to brush. 

“You have a very vivid imagination then, Peacock.” 

Dorian gave a half-smile. “Yes, well, if this is real,” His hand moved to rest on Falon’s cheek. “You can’t just go and make me believe you are dead again, yes?” 

“I can try, I suppose.” 

***** 

“If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever see this again.” Came an unfamiliar voice from behind Falon. He was clinging to the ship’s railing as it swayed in the breeze. Dorian had insisted he get some fresh air, even dragged him up there after helping him into the clean tunic and leggings Aine gave him. 

Falon slowly turned his head around, afraid if he turned too fast he would get dizzy and fall into the ocean. A sailor stood behind him with a big grin on his face. Silvery hair fell into his eye. The right eye was covered with an eyepatch. Just from first glance Falon could tell he was from Rivain, mostly because the only people he knew that had that many piercings were pirates and Rivaini. 

“See what again?” Falon asked with a slight gag. The sea air wasn’t helping the matters of his stomach, which Dorian was searching for something to calm below decks. 

The man snickered as he walked to stand beside the shorter elf. “I suppose many things. A Dalish slave for one.” 

Falon frowned at him. “I’m not a slave.” He growled. 

The man kept his smirk. “Not in these waters anyway. We’re almost to Ostwick if the winds permit.” He shrugged once. “But I don’t think I’ll ever see an elf be treated like ‘e was the master and the human was the slave.” 

Falon blinked confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I don’t mean anything by it, but you got that human of yours wrapped tight, don’t ya?” He then paused for a moment. “Oh, my mother would be rollin’ in ‘er grave. Name’s Tyran.” He stuck out a calloused hand with his big grin. Falon flinched automatically like he was going to get hit. 

If Tyran noticed, he didn’t show it as he awaited Falon’s move. Cautiously the elf took the sailor’s hand. “Falon’dir of Clan Lavellan.” Tyran gave one big shake before letting go to lean against the railing. 

“Pleased to meet ya, Falon’dir. Take it you’re escaping?” 

“That’s very forward of you…” Falon mumbled making him laugh. 

“Eh, Cap’s always had a soft spot for slaves, so I’ve seen my fair share of sorry lots.” Tyran glanced over at Falon who nearly heaved as the boat rocked again. “You’re the first one I’ve seen that got his master to come along though.” 

Falon snorted. “He isn’t my master.” 

“Stubborn one ain’t ya?” Tyran scratched the back of his neck for a moment. “Must be a Dalish thing.” 

“You’ve met another Dalish?” Falon cocked an eyebrow. Tyran blinked before laughing. 

“Sure I’ve met one. In more ways than one.” Tyran giggled. “Got myself three back home.” 

Falon’s eyes looked at him suspiciously. For a moment the human thought the elf was going to skin him alive. “Nothing like that. See when I escaped myself from the Imperium, I got injured real bad, but I got away. Stumbled in some Maker forsaken forest for don’t know how long. Thought I was dead for sure. And when I thought it was all over, suddenly there were these elves with tattoos on their faces. They took me back to their camp and patched me up.” 

“You are very fortunate then. Some of my People would kill you on sight.” Tyran laughed at that. 

“Yeah, that’s what Kiron tells me. Anyway, they escorted me to a nearby village and went on their way. I decided to stay there and make a life. Got to see them Dalish a few times again. Made sure they got fair deals in the village and what not. I had a few friends in that little Clan. Kiron was one of their traders so we got to know each other quite well.” Tyran snickered, leading Falon to realize this Kiron and Tyran liked to roll in the bushes apparently. 

“One time though, I wake up in the middle of the night to someone knockin’ on my door. Go to answer it right? Only to find Kiron, a little boy, and a baby girl soakin’ wet on my doorstep. Turns out some idiots a few villages over got a mob together and killed the Clan just to get the halla horns.” Falon’s gut twisted. Greedy bastard shemlen…He could remember a few times where bandits had tried to get their halla. It never ended well. 

“Kiron had enough brains in him to take his siblings and run. And well they live with me now. It’s no forest, but they got their halla, and they’re safe.” He shrugged with a contented smile. 

“They have their halla still?” Falon asked. He was surprised the villagers didn’t kill them. 

“Sure, they asked them or something if they’d like to stay, and so I got myself a small halla herd. Kiron and the other two milk ‘em and sell any excess milk and butter to the village. He also hunts and sells pelts, or Dalish crafts. Doubt there’s one person in that tiny village who wouldn’t pick up a sword for them.” 

“Kiron doesn’t miss wandering?” 

Tyran shrugged. “He goes on long huntin’ trips sometimes, but says he likes havin’ a home to come back to.” 

“And what about the two younger ones?” Falon couldn’t help but smile. It did sound nice to have a home. A real home, one that didn’t move or change. One that was solely his. 

“We’ve raised little Shivani and Issan just like our own. They play with the village children, know the Chant and your People’s songs as well as any of us. Issan got his, whatchacallit? Vallaslen?” Tyran frowned for a moment. 

“Vallaslin.” 

“Yeah, that’s the one. He got his just before I left. Think Kiron said it was Dirthamen’s.” Tyran looked at the elf beside him with a critical eye. “Yours is…Mythal’s right? The Protector yeah?” 

Falon’s eyebrows raised at the human knowing the Creators. “Forgive my surprise but you know the Creators?” 

Tyran snorted loudly. “Course I do. I got little shrines to them in my home, some right next to my shrine to Andraste. Way I see it your Creators aren’t so different from my Maker, just more names. Ghiln’nain seems an awful like Andraste to me. Sides your elven gods came before the Chantry, so who’s to say we didn’t just condense everything into one, easy to say name?” 

Falon had to laugh. “I see your logic, Tyran. You are a better person than most Chantry-going people.” 

“Nah, just got different set of circumstances is all.” 

“May I ask why you are here?” Falon asked before swallowing hard. The wind was picking up speed, moving the ship more. And here he had thought he had conquered his sickness… 

“Little Shivani’s nameday is coming up and I wanted to get ‘er something she’s never seen. My brother’s the Captain of this beauty, and was going to Rivain, so I offered to work for my passage. The stop in Minrathous wasn’t expected, but I imagine your Creators blessed you when we did stop, eh? Not many ships will take a slave without proper paperwork or something.” 

“Pretty sure Dorian was going to smuggle me on somehow.” Falon joked. “Think he was going to have me shift into a dog or something.” 

Tyran blinked before laughing as well. “Word of warning, Falon’dir. Don’t know if ya heard of the Mage Templar War that’s been going on, but I’d keep the magic to a minimum. Templars don’t care who gets killed anymore.” 

Falon sobered quickly at that. He nodded grimly, turning back to the horizon. Great Templars…That thought didn’t nothing to settle his stomach. 

***** 

Falon dodged through the nighttime crowds with ease, keeping a firm grip on Dorian’s hand. Both of them had hoods covering their faces, though more because it was raining buckets than for a disguise. 

The elf may never have been in a shemlen city, but Ostwick wasn’t that difficult to navigate. Not when nearly everyone was rushing for some kind of cover. Plus Tyran had given him directions to a moderately clean and cheap tavern that would take an elf. Along with some more friendly advice: Templars were apparently starting to get real jumpy inside cities. 

Falon knew that the Templars would be able to sense their magic instantly. Not using magic was normal for Falon, but Dorian was from Tevinter, magic was expected to be used. Which proposed a whole new set of problems. If anyone found out that Dorian was from Tevinter, he had little doubt every Templar would be rushing to skewer them. 

But that wasn’t their biggest concern. Neither was getting supplies. The sailors told him some shops that had a soft spot for elves (mostly because they were run by elves in the Alienage) with decent equipment. Which was fine; Falon was no craftsman but he could make his own improvements to whatever they could buy well enough. 

No, their biggest obstacle was the fact that Falon was an elf. A Dalish elf at that. Dorian could blend in as a nobleman’s son easy enough. Falon stood out, grabbed attention like no other. After all, his People were reclusive, very few shemlen ever met a Dalish in their entire lives. 

More than that, the shems had horrible stories about the Dalish. Stories that had grown worse according to the sailors. Since Dalish had no Templars, but they had magic, the stories started to suggest that the Dalish were demon worshippers and blood mages. Leading Templars and common folk to be suspicious at best, and downright nasty at worst towards his People. 

But he couldn’t control any of that. He would just have to rely on quick wit and his peacekeeping abilities. And Dorian. They could always claim that Falon was his guide through the forests that were dangerous if you didn’t know where you were going. It wasn’t the best cover, but it could work. 

Falon sighed as they finally made it to the tavern: The Blind Owl Inn. Kirkwall had the Hanged Man, Ostwick had the Blind Owl. While not as depressing and morbid as the Hanged Man, the Blind Owl was about as clean and reputable as the other. That is to say, not very. Still it was a welcome sight to the two getting drenched. 

Stepping inside there was a horrid stench of shemlen and alcohol. Humans were scattered about, some passed out, others drinking, and two were arm wrestling in the corner. Sweeping over the room, Falon quickly pinpointed the tavernkeep. Or rather the tavernkeep found him. 

“Welcome!” The sweaty and frail man beamed happily at two more customers. Especially since one looked rich. “What can I do for you today?” He asked as the duo approached the bar, pushing off their hoods. 

Falon tried hard to ignore the sudden silence that fell over the rowdy room. Like every human was focusing on his ears. Well not the tavernkeep, he was staring at his tattoos. The man looked outright astonished like he found a griffon. 

Dorian stifled a chuckle. After all, the elf had lectured him not to cause a scene, when in reality, Falon caused a scene just by sporting pointed ears and a tree tattoo. 

“Apologizes, friend, don’t see your kind ‘round that often.” The tavernkeep covered. 

Falon managed a forced smile. “No I imagine not.” 

“Well, what can I do for you today?” His eyes slid over to Dorian, lingering there for a moment too long. It was obvious that the question was directed towards the ‘Vint, like Falon wouldn’t have money. 

Dorian seemed to notice as well for he smiled. “Don’t look at me, he calls the shots.” He nodded towards the elf. 

“We need a room for the night.” Falon stated simply. He reached into the pack and produced a few coins if only to show he did in fact have money. 

“Oi, this place has gone downhill if you’re lettin’ some elf savage in, Craven!” someone shouted at the top of their drunk lungs. Falon’s face barely twitched in response. Craven however frowned and looked to the speaker, a drunken off-duty guard. 

“His coin’s just as good as yours, ya drunken ass!” Craven growled before turning back to his new customers. “Most my fancy rooms are already sold, but I got a spare room with a clean bed and a bath upstairs. You look like you need both, friend.” No doubt he figured that one bed wasn’t going to be an issue. At best he thought Falon would sleep on the floor, at worst he figured the two weren’t just travel companions. 

Falon snickered. Did he really look that bad? “You had me at clean, serah.” Dorian muttered that he wondered what his standard of clean was given the stench of the tavern. Craven paid him no mind. 

“That’ll be thirty silver, thirty-five if you want a meal brought up.” 

“Wait, you’re seriously lettin’ ‘im stay? You’re goin’ to get robbed blind,” The drunk growled loudly. From the sounds of it, many patrons felt the same way with their murmurs. 

“I told ya, his coin is just as good as the rest of ya’s. Sides, he looks to have more coin than you, doubt he’ll bother.” Craven rolled his eyes as Falon counted out thirty-five silver slowly. It wasn’t like he ever had to use this stuff let alone count it. Dorian of course was counting over his shoulder. 

“Aye, but I earned my keep. Who’s to say that didn’t come from some poor nobleman’s attacked caravan?” 

Falon sighed loudly. “If you are trying to insult me, the least you could do is be creative about it.” He grumbled loudly. It was the same thing everywhere. Oh, you’re Dalish? You must be a bandit then. Or a graverobber. Or some backwater barbarian that didn’t know what a bath was. The list went on and on and Falon had heard every one before the age of ten. It was all very tiring. 

“What was that, knife-ears?” Dorian took note of the twitch in Falon’s jaw. The Altus was surprised at the racism on display here. He knew that elves were looked down upon all across Thedas, but this? He was only more surprised that Falon wasn’t shocking people’s eyes out. He would have. 

Instead, the elf had a calm demeanor, a strained calm that had a tired anger behind it, but it was still calmer than how Dorian felt. Falon didn’t even bother to look at the guard who was now right next to him, hand on his hilt. 

“I said, if you are trying to insult me, you should be more creative.” Falon’s voice was ice as he pushed the coins forward and received their key. “I’ve heard better insults from a common nug.” 

The guard’s face went red, slamming his hand around the elf’s wrist. “You little piss elf.” 

“Laud, you cause any more trouble and I’ll see to it your captain hears about it.” Craven threatened. “Now ‘ands off, and get your sorry ass out.” Dorian was about to shock the living hell out of the guard before he let the elf go. The Altus immediately stepped in between the two, glaring daggers until the guard stepped back. 

Laud snorted with a disgusted look on his face. “Don’t get too comfortable, little elf.” 

“With guards like you around, who needs criminals?” Dorian grumbled as the man left the tavern. Falon’s shoulder nudged Dorian’s to get his attention. Once he had it he motioned to the stairs. 

***** 

Inside their room, Falon growled loudly, letting ice crawl up the walls before he took a few calming breaths. With each exhale, he let out a string of elven curses. Dorian might have joined him in cursing, if the elf hadn’t been angry enough for the two of them. Which was surprising given how calm he was in the tavern. 

Instead, the human sat on their bed (after steaming it with a quick spell of course) and watched in fascination on how the elf vented. It was rather like watching a snake coil. Or a wolf stalk. This was perhaps the first time he had seen this much anger come from the man. It was interesting how his magic shimmered in the air, tiny ice particles glistening before falling to the ground. 

“Careful, you might rot the wood,” Dorian muttered watching it snow. Falon snapped himself out of it, reigning his magic back in. 

“Ir abelas, Peacock. I just…despise shemlen like him.” His voice was a feral growl. He flopped onto the bed with a loud sigh. “People like him are the reason why elves don’t trust guards, turn to crime and why nothing ever changes.” 

“For what it’s worth, I was about to roast his drunk ass as well. I’m surprised you didn’t.” 

Falon gave a dry laugh. “I wanted to. But Grandmother taught me not to give shemlen any more reason to hate us. Let them act like fools, make asses out of themselves while we be as civil and polite as was allowed.” 

“Well, I think you accomplished that.” Dorian smiled just as there was a knock on the door. “Must be our dinner.” He got up and crossed the small room to the door. Behind it was a young serving girl carrying a tray with two bowls of stew, some bread, and he guessed some ale. Suddenly he was a peasant, Dorian thought grimly as he accepted the tray. He gave the girl a silver before closing the door. 

Falon took a large breath. “Smells good at least.” Then he took note of Dorian’s sour face. “It may not be a Magister’s feast, but it’s probably going to be the best meal you’ll have for a while.” 

“Such a lovely thought,” Dorian muttered. Falon chuckled, taking the bowl offered to him. They ate in relative silence save for Dorian nearly choking from laughter as the elf tasted the ale. He would never be a heavy drinker apparently. 

“People drink this? Willingly?” He coughed. It tasted like piss, smelt like piss, and was the color of piss. And then the burn of the alcohol just made it that much worse. The churning of his stomach made him regret eating everything before drinking that. 

“I’ll admit that this is one of the poorest ales I’ve ever drank, but I doubt a place like this has clean water.” The elf snorted indignantly. “Speaking of clean water, weren’t you just dying for a bath?” 

The elf’s cheeks turned bright red as he nursed some more ale down his throat. There was a bathtub, but this was a small room. So small there was one bed pressed against the wall, a bedside table that held one lamp, the bath shoved against the opposite wall, and little else. It wasn’t exactly the most private place. Add on top of that, Falon was nervous about having Dorian in the room. 

Creators knew he wanted to do more than kiss, but this was a seedy inn and then his back still hadn’t healed. Plus he was frightened about what would come after. Working in a brothel made him feel dirty, like he shouldn’t be able to lie with Dorian. At the same time, he also knew that humans saw an exotic beauty in him, like he was created just to elicit arousal in people. 

It made him think he couldn’t be more than a diversion, a toy to any man including Dorian who was smirking wickedly. 

“Don’t tell me you are shy, Falon.” He mocked with a purr. Falon narrowed his eyes over his tankard. 

“Hardly.” More like nervous and confused. But there was a challenge in Dorian’s tone, one that Falon could not ignore. He placed his mug on the table and stood up, removing his dagger belt as he did. He was sure to give Dorian a challenging look as he undid the buttons on his shirt. 

“Oh my, what did I ever do to deserve this show?” Dorian laughed as Falon frowned. The elf wadded up his shirt and threw it at the human. “Alright, fine, have it your way.” Dorian held his hands up in surrender before moving to lie on his back. 

The elf shifted on his feet before waving his hand. Ice instantly filled the tub. Fire spells were always tricky for Falon, probably because he was an emotional wreck and fire tended to be fueled by emotions. Plus Falon was timid about fire, too timid his Grandmother used to say. But the last thing he was going to do was ask Dorian for help. He could already hear the odd shemlen innuendos. 

Hesitantly, Falon made the energy in the ice go from being stuck, to moving rather freely. The shift in energy, the sudden movement melted the ice with a nice steam (a release of excess energy) rising from the now full tub. The elf let out a hefty sigh. Nothing caught on fire at least. 

The water was lukewarm at best due to Falon not really using a fire spell. But it was at least clean. He glanced back at the human, finding him shielding his eyes with an amused smile. Cheeky ass, Falon thought. 

He slipped out of his pants and climbed in, his body shivering. Dorian removed his hand once the splashing subsided. He didn’t wipe that grin off his face though. “So you have a plan, yes?” Dorian asked after a few minutes of silence. 

Falon winced. It wasn’t like he had done this before. He supposed they could play it by ear, hope neither of them got skewered by some Templar till they actually thought of a plan. But he doubted Dorian wanted to hear that the plan was to think of a plan. 

“A plan for what?” Falon played coy, keeping his attention of scrubbing the layers of dirt and blood from himself. He felt Dorian looking at him. 

“For what he says. If you haven’t noticed, we are fugitives running for our lives. Literally.” Dorian scoffed. 

“Well, first we need to find my Clan. Then we can figure out the rest.” Falon gave a soft hiss as he tried to run the rag over his shoulder. Dorian stood up and walked to him. 

“Here, allow me.” He took the rag and gently began to wash the lash marks. Falon fought a blush off his face as he leaned forward, keeping his hair to the side. “Have you ever tried a nullification spell while you were healing? It might speed this whole process up.” 

“A nullification spell? Like dispel?” Falon turned his head to look at the human. Dorian’s hand barely touched the water but instantly he jerked his hand back. 

“Fasta vas, the water’s ice cold!” He grumbled with a disgruntled look on his face. “How in the world are you not freezing your Dalish ass?” 

Falon shrugged with a half smile. “Used to it I guess.” Dorian mumbled something under his breath before he flicked his hand. Steam began to rise from the water, Falon’s skin suddenly getting feeling back. 

“Can’t have you falling ill just because you can’t heat your bathwater.” Dorian snorted. “And not like dispel. You nullify ambient magic to allow things to burn hotter, then twist the Fade around the spell so you don’t waste more energy burning through your own spell. I use it frequently in casting.” He shrugged as he started cleaning Falon’s back again. The elf twitched sometimes, hissing. 

“And you think it might get rid of the magic in my wounds?” Falon could see the logic he supposed. His body thought the wounds were closed because there was magic pressing against his cells. Thus any healing spell wouldn’t work because the cells weren’t trying to heal. Burn away the magic and suddenly they could heal. 

“Just a theory. Perhaps we can try it?” Falon shrugged in response. He felt a now familiar warmth on his back, though this time it was accompanied by an odd tingle like his muscles were waking up. It wasn’t unpleasant per say, just odd. It made him want to move a lot if only to make it stop. 

Dorian watched as the soft orange glow sank into one of the lash marks, little sparks of magic coming out as his nullification spell shaved them off. He drew his spells back to see if he’d made any progress. Sure enough the once grizzly lash was now just a faded welt. 

Only bad thing was, Dorian’s magic took a big dip with just that one wound. It may take a few days for him to get all of them healed. But…His hand brushed over the scar. “Well it’s not perfect, but with some practice I should get better…” 

Falon tried to look but obviously couldn’t. “It’s healed?” He sounded like he couldn’t fathom that being a possibility. Perhaps he had been injured like this before… 

“Was there ever any doubt?” Dorian scoffed, running the rag over his back once more before handing it back to him. “Just one is healed anyway. Too much magic is needed for the nullification for me to heal it all in one go.” 

The elf blinked up at him. “Ma serannas, ma revas. You’ll have to teach me that spell.” The soft smile on his face made Dorian’s breath catch. Then the smile turned into something entirely alluring. “I think you should return to the bed before you get wet.” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow but did as he was told. His robes had just barely dried after all. 

***** 

Dorian let out a sigh feeling clean again. Falon was lying on the bed, eyes closed. His hair was splayed over the pillow, slightly curling as Dorian dried his own hair. The elf seemed to be content enough. 

Which only made Dorian wonder if this was all going to end soon. After all, everything was against them. He was certain that once they found the reclusive Dalish Clan, Falon would be so happy to be with his family again, he’d forget all about Dorian. In a way Dorian was hoping that would happen. 

Dorian wasn’t sure how to have a normal relationship. Would he even be good at that sort of thing? Moreover, Falon had obligations he had to fulfill with his Clan. And Dorian couldn’t ask him to throw that all away on the off chance they managed to stay together. 

The Altus gave another hefty sigh as he reached the bed, heavy thoughts in his head. Before he could really register anything a hand grabbed ahold of his wrist and pulled him into bed. 

Falon snickered evilly as he wrapped his arms around the human. He gave his bare chest a kiss. Dorian shivered at the hot breath against his skin. The elf kept teasing him, leaving light little kisses around the skin he could reach without sitting up. 

“You are positively insufferable.” Dorian grumbled as his skin began to heat up. He felt the elf smirk before he raised himself up to kiss his lips. 

“Here I thought you liked foreplay.” His words were nearly lost in the kiss. Falon ran a hand through Dorian’s hair, tugging it to make him lean his head back. The slight part of his lips allowed Falon to enter. The elf could play dirty it seemed. 

Their tongues fought for dominance before they had to part for air. The elf however was bound and determined to win this. His lips trailed down to the Altus’s neck, nibbling over his veins. 

Just to be stubborn, Dorian swallowed whatever noises he wanted to make. Only for the nibbling to turn to sucking. A groan slipped passed his guard as he found a soft spot. Falon continued working moans out of the human while his hand deftly made its way lower. 

This is unfair, Dorian thought as the elf captured his lips again, swallowing a moan. His skin was on fire, his stomach was a bit knot, and his cock was starting to stain against his pants. Yet the elf was still cool to the touch, seemingly unaffected as he teased Dorian with his hand. 

Of course, he was probably used to this. He was married after all. That thought crept up through the haziness of pleasure. Dorian's whole body froze for a moment. Was this wrong? It wasn’t like Dorian hadn’t done his fair share of immoral acts before. But he liked to think he had standards. And sharing wasn’t his specialty. He didn’t like to be someone’s seconds. 

The elf seemed to notice Dorian’s souring mood, despite the human trying to shove those thoughts away. The Altus tried to continue, but Falon pulled away to gaze at him. “What is it, Peacock?” 

“Nothing.” Dorian breathed, despite looking troubled. He tried to start again, pressing his lips against the elf’s, but his troubled thoughts wouldn’t leave him. 

“I’ve spent nearly a year in your company, Dorian. I know your troubled face.” Falon murmured between Dorian’s kisses. 

“Very well, you rooted me out.” He sighed, pulling back. “I was just wondering where this goes…Whatever this is…” 

Falon narrowed his eyes for a moment. Dorian sounded like he was saying goodbye, or something unpleasant. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, you have your freedom and soon your home back. And I doubt your people will just allow me to come along with you. And I can’t ask you to…to just leave them for me.” Dorian sighed. Suddenly it was very clear that whatever was between them could go no further than this little trip. 

“You don’t have to ask.” Falon said matter of factly. He had already known he would have to leave his Clan if he wanted to be with Dorian. It wasn’t an easy decision, but he didn’t think he’d live well if he didn’t see where this all went. 

Dorian gave a pained face. “That’s the problem. You are willing to give up everything for this.” He sighed loudly, settling back. “What is this anyway?” He motioned bitterly between them. 

Falon furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t know really, but I want to find out…” 

“Can there be anything between us?” Dorian grumbled. Falon tilted his head. He knew that Dorian could be difficult but this was just paranoia. “I mean, you are technically married, Falon.” 

The elf flinched. He hadn’t thought about it that way. Did Dorian feel like he was just a dalliance? Some fleeting temptation? “Does that bother you, Dorian?” He asked quietly. Surely the human knew he had little love left for his husband… 

“I know you don’t care for Kalor like you used to, but the fact still remains that you are married. You shouldn’t be—“ 

“Not by any choice of mine, Dorian.” Falon interrupted. His serious expression shut the human’s mouth. “If I never see that man again, it’ll be too soon. Moreover, Dorian, I do not know how humans get a marriage annulled, but it is very simple for us Dalish. Frowned upon heavily, and very awkward afterwards, but simple.” 

“What you just say I don’t want to be with you anymore?” Dorian scoffed. He had a hard time believing that. 

Falon snorted. “Basically. Just breaking the vows, burning the rope used to bind us, and getting scolded by our elders. Though in my case, I doubt I’ll get a very big lecture…” Then Falon sighed loudly. “I will not lie and tell you I do not love Kalor anymore because there will always be a part of me that loves him. But unless you tell me in no uncertain terms you never want to see me after this, you’re stuck with me, Peacock.” 

Dorian opened and closed his mouth many times. What was he supposed to do? Tell the elf to get lost? Dorian had thought him dead for three days and spiraled down into depression. So he did what he did best, sarcastic remarks. “You are perhaps the most sappy person I have ever met.” 

Falon snickered as he leaned forward. He gave Dorian’s lips a soft kiss. “Must have been all the shemlen sweets you fed me.” Then he pulled back. “Now unless you really want to continue…I suggest we get some sleep.” 

Dorian sighed exasperatedly, like he was disappointed at the elf’s pragmatism. “Very well, we’ll be sensible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'm suffering from Summeritis where I don't want to do anything, and ugh the fluffy/smut scenes just make me cringe, but Banal is being stubborn and I'm still settling into Tarasyl (you'll see hopefully) so I forced this out of my dark soul.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed my fluff. Sorry I didn't do a fight scene, you'll get one next chapter (along with some very special guest stars ;) ).
> 
> Let me know if I missed something you think should have been addressed at this point. I'll be sure to include it (if I agree that is) or point you to the time it was addressed (if it was addressed, because sometimes I'm a sneaky bastard with details XD just look at Banal's story!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Small World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon and Dorian have a bit of an adventure in Ostwick and meet some very special people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot of ground to cover in this chapter, so buckle down.
> 
> Also sexual content ahead. So basically non-descriptive smut. And some slurs (Laud's an ass). But mostly happy things happen!

Falon smiled pleasantly at the girl who was staring at his tattoos. The little elf was completely unbashful about it either. Her mother kept scolding her, but she didn’t listen. 

“So why do you have tattoos?” She asked suddenly. 

“Anesia!” the shopkeeper frowned. 

Falon had to laugh. This kind of curiosity he was used to; it was harmless, cute even. It wasn’t that he was an exotic piece of meat being sized up for sale, but that he was a grown man with facial tattoos. 

“It is fine, serah.” He calmed her mother. Then he bent down to the girl’s level. “I have them because I’m Dalish and an adult.” She puckered her mouth like that was an odd answer. 

“What’s a Dalish?” Unsurprising really. He was quite sure his people were fairytales to people. After all, who could fathom living in a forest or a plain without a city or buildings? Mahariel had told him once that when she was in the Denerim Alienage, it was like she was some sort of ghost or demon to them. 

“Well, we’re kind of like you. Except we don’t live in cities and don’t worship Andraste or the Maker.” He told her gently. 

Before the little girl could continue, her mother covered her mouth. “Hush, Anesia. Let the man be.” She stroked her hair before continuing to package Falon’s items. He had sent Dorian to procure the items that an elf wouldn’t be able to buy, like a bow, arrows, and a whetstone. Falon decided to head for the Alienage to get some of the more domestic items: pots, some food supplies, bedrolls, etc. 

He had spent probably more time than necessary down here. He was just fascinated by the giant tree, the vhenadahl. Plus everyone was fascinated by him. They kept either staring or come up to talk to him. Even the Hahren came out, though his was to tell him the rules of the Alienage and to see why he was there. 

After he had assured him, he was not looking to move into the Alienage, he was finally able to begin gathering his things. And being stopped by curious people of course. 

“There you are, serah. That’ll be twenty-five silvers.” The woman smiled as she handed him his package. Falon returned the smile as he counted thirty out. Even if it wasn’t much, he had been taught to always share what little you had with Clanmates. She wasn’t Clan, but she was one of the People and anything might be helpful in this place. 

He quickly took his package and started to leave. He could hear her gasp as she found the extra, but pretended he could not hear her calls to him. Dorian and him weren’t going to be rich after this; they probably weren’t even going to be able to stay in an inn after this. As it was, Dorian had to sell some of his rings to be able to meet the smith’s price after Falon showed him which would be the most reliable. The Altus truly had no head for mundane weapons. 

But Falon still went out of the Alienage with a smile. 

That is until he saw a familiar face in the crowd. Very quickly Falon’s face fell, turning quickly to suspicion. The drunk from the tavern last night was scouting out the Blind Owl. He was now in full guard armor, sword and shield quite ready to skewer an unsuspecting elf. Falon snorted bitterly. The human had probably thought of a good cover up too. Probably something like ‘this man is under arrest for theft’ or maybe Falon would get an assault charge! That’d be different. 

Laud apparently hadn’t seen Falon watching him watch the inn so Falon quickly slipped back down to the Alienage. He didn’t know his way around the city like these people did. He just hoped they’d be able to help him. Or rather be willing to help him. 

Quickly Falon narrowed in on the Hahren and headed for the greying man. “Aneth era, Hahren.” He greeted as the man took notice of him. 

“Ah, back so soon, Dalish? Did we charm you so much with our slums you wish to stay?” the man chuckled, showing off his many missing teeth in a smile. 

“Not exactly, but I’m afraid I have a bit of a problem.” Falon’dir shifted on his feet. It felt wrong to possibly endanger these people’s lives. But he hoped there was just a side entrance he could us. 

The Hahren narrowed his dull blue eyes sharply. “Is that so?” 

Falon was suddenly reminded of his grandmother when she was about to scold him. He swallowed loudly. “Ah yes. It seems one of your guards has taken offense by my tattoos and ears. And wishes to catch me outside my inn.” 

The man studied Falon for a moment. “This guard’s name Laud?” 

He blinked stupidly. “Yes, it is in fact.” 

“That shem’s an ass’s ass. Likes to come down here in the middle of the night and cause trouble just cause he wears the city’s crest. Well used to. I tipped off his Captain and she let him have it. Got him demoted in fact. ‘The elves are just as much a part of this city as you’ she yelled as she dragged him outta here.” The old man chuckled. Then he sobered and looked at the Dalish. “You though, you’d be fair game, I suppose…” He rested heavily on his old cane in front of him as he pondered. 

By now the curious eavesdroppers had either left to lock their houses or began to think. “I don’t suppose there’s a side entrance to the Blind Owl?” Falon suggested. 

The Hahren wrinkled his brow as he nodded. “There is, but it’s for servants, and won’t help you getting outta there. Only way out of the city is west towards the entrance of the place…” 

“He could always claim sanctuary at the Chantry. Laud can’t touch him there. The mother would probably call for the Captain too…” A young man suggested. Falon felt uncomfortable with that idea. He had never stepped foot in a Chantry before let alone claim sanctuary. Would they even let him? After all, he didn’t believe in the Maker… 

“I might be able to smuggle him in to the Owl too.” A young girl said, pausing as she was walking passed. “My shift starts soon. And someone could go find the Captain…” 

The Hahren nodded thoughtfully. “Jenna, isn’t your son now in the Watch?” he asked a middle aged elf. The woman blinked but nodded. 

“Aye, he is. Just a squire under the Captain…” Jenna spoke quietly. Falon’s eyebrows raised at that. An elven guard? In a shemlen city? What odd place had he found himself? Surely this was just a dream. 

“You’d have a reason to visit the Keep, so Laud might not notice you…” 

“It’s fine, really. I just need to get inside the Owl.” Falon interjected. This was starting to sound far too dangerous for his liking. “My companion and I can handle him—“ 

“Nonsense, boy.” The Hahren scoffed. His tone made the young elf be quiet. It reminded him too much of his grandmother scolding him and shaking her staff. “He’ll arrest the both of you and unless you are actually going to give him a reason to arrest you, you’ll be rotting in the dungeons before you know it.” He waved Falon’s comment off. “So, Jenna, think you can get to the Keep and get the Captain?” 

The woman glanced at Falon, biting her lips. She was nervous obviously. Most of them were. As much as they hated the Watch and didn’t trust most of them, years of oppression had taught them to fear. But surprisingly she nodded. 

“Aye, I can do that. Give me an hour or so. Sometimes she’s not in her office.” 

***** 

Smuggling Falon inside the Owl was apparently child’s play for the girl. She just took a small side street, one that both had to turn sideways to get through, to the alley beside the inn. Once inside, Craven of course recognized Falon. 

“Oi! What are ya doing bringin’ a customer back here?!” He scolded her. 

“I’m sorry, serah, but Laud is watching the door for him. I thought to help a customer avoid a scuffle.” She muttered meekly. The human grumble something about a bronto’s ass, but Falon pretended not to hear it. 

“Want me to send for the Captain?” he was still frowning, but he knew that guard to be a right ass. Especially since he got demoted from Lieutenant by a rabbit. 

Falon shook his head quickly, making the sea shells clack in his hair. “No, we’ve already sent someone. If worse comes to worse, I was told I could run to the Chantry.” Not that he knew where the thing was. Or what it really looked like… 

Craven nodded, letting the redhead pass by him, though it was clear he was still unhappy about this. Falon said a quick thank you and goodbye to the girl before heading out of the kitchen area and up to his room. 

He found Dorian pacing the floor. The human gave a displeased glare at the sound of the door opening. He had been worrying that the elf had literally just vanished again, just left him. Internally Dorian chastised himself for getting far too attached to the elf that would inevitably disappear, but his heart was having nothing of it. 

Falon winced at the glare before giving a half smile. _Daaaww, he was worried_ , the elf chuckled in his head. 

“Thought the plan was to leave the city before midday?” Dorian grumbled as Falon sat his package on the ground. Falon sighed loudly. That was indeed the plan. He couldn’t wait to get out of this shemlen city. He was entirely done with cities for his lifetime. Sadly his plans didn’t always go according to plan. 

“Ir abelas, but the flat ears were very…curious and chatty…and then there’s Laud standing outside the inn. I had to come in through the servant’s entrance just now.” Falon mumbled. 

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I saw him just as I was coming back.” Honestly, the fact that the elf had managed to produce this much trouble in one day was astonishing. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault he had pointed ears and some people were just racist assholes by choice. Still, Dorian thought Falon was the one who deserved the lecture about laying low. “It makes getting out of here rather more difficult.” 

Falon nodded as he began to organize his and Dorian’s packs evenly. He noticed the bow and quiver full of arrows leaning against the bed. It wasn’t a Dalish bow, nor a longbow. It was a modest short bow that held just enough oomph to take down game like deer. Now if they ran into a bear… 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “A woman in the Alienage is going to get his Captain. We just have to wait an hour and hope we don’t have to stall too long for her to get there.” 

Dorian snorted. _This is a beautiful start to a journey_ , he thought bitterly. Still he wasn’t begging for coin to go get drunk yet so it could be worse. Then Falon’s sentence caught up to his brain. “Why shouldn’t we stall for too long?” Dorian sat upon the bed, leaning on his arms against his legs. 

The elf paused in his motions to look up with a wicked smile. “Because I may just get tired of listening to him.” His words held an icy chill, his eyes a feral glint. Dorian snorted in agreement. 

“I’m pretty sure I would be the first to get tired of him, amatus.” Dorian froze as the word just slipped out. His heart stopped beating. He was pretty sure Falon knew enough Tevene to understand it. And that frightened him. He was afraid the elf would run away at any such outwardly sign of affection. 

Hesitantly he met the elf’s eyes. They were wide with surprise, but also very soft. His heart made a fluttering motion inside his chest at them as the wicked smile turned sweet. Then Falon seemed to get confused. 

“Why do you look like a mouse in front of a snake?” He asked as he stood up. Slowly, like he was afraid he might scare the man away if he moved too fast, he sat beside him. “Don’t tell me it’s because you actually expressed out how you felt for once?” 

Dorian snapped himself out of his daze to frown. “I’ve expressed myself on more than one occasion, thank you.” 

The elf snickered. “Ah yes through hot kisses and wandering hands.” 

“Well actions do speak louder than words, yes?” Dorian would loathe to admit it, but his cheeks were starting to burn. Even more so when Falon took his hand. 

The elf was quiet for a moment. His mind was replaying any previous romance he had. Including Kalor. One thing that he loved about him was he was never shy about his passions. He would blatantly kiss Falon in the middle of camp in a greeting. Course he kept it chaste to the disapproving eyes. And the wolf would tell him he loved him when he first woke up and right before he went to sleep. 

Of course that was all pretty much a lie, but Falon felt himself missing that openness. Dorian wasn’t from the same upbringing. He doubted the human could be that open with himself. Not that Falon expected him to. Still it was the little things in these sorts of relationships that mattered. Like pet names or being patient. 

With his free hand, Falon combed Dorian’s hair back. “Don’t know about you, but I pay more attention to the little things.” He told him, kissing the mark under his eye. 

The human scoffed. “Like terms of affection? Sappy moments?” 

The Dalish turned the man’s head to look at him. “Yes and like how sometimes I wake up and you have your arms around me. Or how you trace every scar I have or how you hold yourself back for my sake.” 

Dorian blinked. He found those things…those small little acts to be more important than anything else? Moreover, the elf could tell that Dorian had been holding back. This sort of thing wasn’t his forte. And to complicate matters, Falon had long suffered abuse from his last partner. Dorian just wasn’t sure where the boundary line was, what was okay and not. So he let Falon dictate the speed of things since he was more experienced and whatnot. 

For a moment the Altus couldn’t really find his eloquent tongue. However the elf spoke, “Come we have to prepare to leave soon, ma’revas.” Falon brought Dorian’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it before he stood up. “I’ll just have to think of a way to get you to like saying the word amatus.” 

Somehow, Dorian wasn’t sure if that was a flirt or a threat. 

***** 

They waited as long as they could possibly stand in that small room, chatting about this and that. Mostly it was just Dorian wondering how Falon was going to find his Clan without a map. To which the elf chuckled and told him he had been travelling in the Marches since he was a babe. Plus Clans used a variety of symbols and magic marks to denote their passage, they just had to find recent ones and follow from there. 

When they had grown beyond bored and claustrophobic, they decided it was time to leave. Falon muttered a quick prayer to Mythal to protect them from the idiot that was Laud and one to Sylaise to aid his magic in case he needed to use it. 

They had barely taken five steps out of the door before a rough hand on his shoulder stopped Falon. Every fiber of his being locked up, little flashes of the past springing to life in his head. Dorian glared at the owner of the hand as he pulled Falon away since the elf seemed to have frozen in place. 

“Do you not have some beggar to beat?” Dorian hissed. Falon took a shaky breath, trying to regain himself. Years as a slave made that one action a trigger for him. He could remember many times when his master would do that, or Kalor right before he’d beat him. It brought unpleasant memories. 

Dorian kept himself between the two, counting on his more noble attire to deter the man from trying violence. After all, a guard who beat down a nobleman’s son was usually a dead one whether or not the son was at fault. On the off chance Laud did not care, Dorian could easily set his ass on fire. 

A few other guards wandered over from their post against the wall each with similar grins. Falon shivered at how unsettling they were. 

“Well, well, well, we’ve been waiting for you, little rabbit.” Laud chuckled. Falon tensed at the slur. “Keeping your master’s bed warm for him?” 

Dorian felt the elf’s muscles twitch like he wanted to strangle him. But then they relaxed into an eerie calm. “I have no master but myself, shemlen. Speak your business.” The Altus looked back at the very civil elf. He wore a face devoid of all emotion. But his eyes were the color of beryl and held murder in them. 

“Right,” Laud still wore his smirk as he put a hand on his sword. “You’ll be coming with us, knife-ear.” 

“Says who?” 

“The Ostwick City Guard. You’re under arrest.” The other guardsmen snickered. They couldn’t be serious right? They had to have had some brains in their skulls. 

“Under what charges? I’ve done nothing save wound your ego.” Falon shot back, still unemotional. If this was a Keeper’s training, then half of Thedas needed it. 

“Banditry, thieving, kidnapping, take your pick.” One of the others shrugged. 

“Personally I’m thinking kidnapping a young nobleman for ransom or slavers.” Laud looked over at Dorian. The Altus glared. 

“If you think I’ll go along with that idea, you have to be the stupidest man in all of Thedas.” Dorian grumbled. He barely had a chance to comprehend what was happening as Laud’s sword was unsheathed and pressed against his throat. Falon tensed, grabbing a hold of Dorian’s sleeve. His magic pooled into his muscles as he suppressed a growl. 

“Oh I think you will, lest you want to join your little rabbit.” Dorian kept his glare as the guard leaned in to wink. “I might be able to let you share a cell before he gets hanged.” Falon suddenly realized why people killed other people. And surprised no one had done so to this shemlen. His fingers found his daggers, ready to cut the man’s tongue out. 

“Oh, Cousin! There you are!” A young girl with bronze skin suddenly exclaimed, startling them all. She had a big smile as she walked over to their group. The guards all started to shift uncomfortably. Laud quickly straightened and sheathed his sword. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you! Mother was worried sick!” She stood in front of Dorian, standing on her toes to kiss both his cheeks in a greeting. “Go with it.” She whispered. 

Dorian didn’t know who this woman was but if it kept them out of jail, he’d go along with anything. “Ah, yes, terribly sorry about that. The storm last night made us take refuge here.” He motioned to the Owl behind them. The lady grimaced, wrinkling her petite nose. Falon blinked at the small woman with freckles sprinkled over her cheeks. His hand fell to his side, all anger dissipating in favor of disbelief. 

“You should have sent a runner to us at least. We could have had some of our servants to fetch you.” Falon kept his confusion off his face. This was one of the weirdest things to have happened to them. And they were both Tevinter fugitives. 

“Oh it wasn’t any trouble.” 

Laud looked between the two, obviously skeptical. “Lady Sophia you know these two?” The young girl turned to him. She was small in stature but the guard still flinched meeting her pink colored eyes. 

“This is my Aunt Tillie’s son, Guardsman.” She said dramatically like she was offended to be talking to him. “And this elf is a Dalish we hired to escort him from Wycome.” For a moment, Falon believed her. “Is that a problem?” 

Some guards took a step back from the venom in her voice. Dorian nearly laughed. She was like a miniature version of his mother. 

“Good question. Is there a problem?” came a sterner voice. Color drained from the men’s faces as an armored woman came up with an elf following closely. Both wore the guard’s armor, though hers was obviously the captain’s. 

“Mother! Look I found Aunt Tillie’s son! You do remember he was coming, yes?” Sophia didn’t drop her act for a moment as she looked to the older version of herself. Both had the same ginger hair color, the same pink eyes, and both frightened the guards to no end. 

The older woman looked skeptically at Dorian then at her daughter. If she disapproved of the ruse, she didn’t let it show. “Ah yes, how could I forget? Aunt Tillie often heaves her problems on us.” 

Dorian gave a shaky laugh. The message was quite clear. Falon shifted. “Ah, yes terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but you know how Mother is.” 

“Sadly.” The Captain frowned before turning to her daughter. “Sophia do take your cousin back to the house. And the Dalish as well.” Her eyes barely glanced over at the elf before she turned to her guards. “Now what is this about you harassing elves again, Laud?” 

Sophia motioned for them to follow her. They walked quickly away, hearing the Captain warn and chastise the man as well as his pitiful ‘yes, ma’am’s. They both shared a look, trying not to laugh that that ridiculous lie worked. Sophia, however, didn’t even try to hide it. 

She was giggling when she turned to them. “I love doing that.” 

“What? Swooping in and saving random people on the streets?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. The girl nodded as she calmed herself. 

“Of course, it’s so fun. Before my mother comes and yells at me, introductions are in order, yes? I just saved both you chaps from the stony-lonesome.” She smirked as they looked bewildered at her odd language. “I am Lady Sophia four-middle-names Trevelyan.” She bowed. 

Dorian blinked. He had heard that name. Not Sophia, but Trevelyan. As his mind tried to figure out where, he bowed to her as well. “Dorian Pavus of House Pavus. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Trevelyan.” 

“Falon’dir Istmaethoriel of Clan Lavellan.” The elf was chuckling just at the fact that they all had a mouthful to say. Sophia blinked stupidly at the elf. 

“And I thought I had it bad when I had to say Sophia Annette Evelyne Penelope Madeline Trevelyan.” The two men blinked. “Hey it’s not as bad as the Right Hand’s. Hers goes on forev—wait. Pavus?” She narrowed her eyes at Dorian. “As in House Pavus out of Qarinus?” 

Dorian opened his mouth many times. His heart sped up. This was it; he was going to be burned at the stake for being Tevinter. “Yes?” 

Then Sophia began laughing again. “Well, the Maker will look kindly upon my half-lie!” 

“I’m sorry?” Then his mind found buried in its depths a family tree he was required to memorize. There was a Trevelyan upon its branches, perhaps the original Trevelyan that came to Ostwick… Also he remembered his mother doing business with some Trevelyans. “Hold on. You aren’t related to Ser Emry are you?” 

The girl swished her fancy robes around her. Falon wondered for a moment if she was a Circle Mage from her attire. Though hers were very well made with a lot of gold embellishment and a lion motif. “I am his youngest daughter actually. You then must be Magistera Aine’s son. Oh she sends me the most marvelous books! I can’t seem to find them here.” 

That didn’t sound like his mother. She hardly gave up books for anyone. He looked at her skeptically for a moment before Falon coughed. They looked at him. 

“So this is a very small world apparently.” 

“It seems so.” Dorian murmured. 

“What brings you to Ostwick, if I may ask?” Sophia leaned against a wall as she looked at the unusual pair. “It’s a long way from Tevinter.” She glanced over at Falon, a question in her eyes, but she didn’t dare voice it. She was wondering if he was Dorian’s slave of course; perhaps worried that he was. 

“Your charming guards of course.” Dorian quipped. “And before you ask, no he’s not.” 

Sophia relaxed visibly and giggled. “Oh don’t mind Laud. One more bar fight and Mother’s kicking his ass out. He’s more criminal than the criminals. We aren’t all bad.” She looked mostly at Falon. She smiled as though to apologize for her fellow Marchers. 

“I’ve met many of both kinds, milady.” Falon smiled. “A human calling me knife-ears isn’t new.” 

She sighed loudly. “No I suppose not. That’s the sad thing really. The Ostwick Alienage is one of the better ones, but still that they have to live there is just stupid.” 

“Then change that.” Falon shrugged. If the world had more people like her, things might actually change. 

Sophia snorted. “Yes, I’ll get right on that after the Templars stop trying to assassinate me for being me. One rebellion at a time please.” 

“You’re a mage?” 

She played with the end of her ponytail. “Yes. But I’m not one of those stupid freedom fighters or whatever they call themselves.” She sounded bitter. “I mean, yeah give us more freedom but this isn’t freedom. It’s a slaughter on both sides.” 

“Some people might say that change never came without losses.” Dorian noted. People usually don’t want to change, making them change ended in wars, and wars ended in death. Sophia sighed again. 

“Yeah I know, but…they barely won the vote! And some of us didn’t want to leave, but we’re all now rebels and apostates! How is that fair?” Falon looked at her with pity. She was still young, and he doubted she knew much of life outside the Circle and her family. “Oh don’t look at me like I’m some child. My uncle’s a Knight-Enchanter for the previous Divine and my elder brother is a Lieutenant. I understand war and politics quite well. I just find both stupid.” 

Falon snickered at how she pouted. “Well, I will agree with you there.” The two men looked at each other. Both knowing they had to leave soon. “Ma serannas, Sophia, for helping us. We’ve a long way to travel and we best get to it.” 

“Oh think nothing of it.” She brushed it away. She curtsied politely. “If you are ever in Ostwick again, do stop by House Trevelyan. Just tell them I sent you. Safe travels.” They smiled and began to head for the gates of the city, finally able to start their journey. 

***** 

Falon was much more at ease once they left the city. He walked with more confidence, chatted much more cheerily pointing out little things. Like how the birds were flying or what a fennec was thinking. Dorian found his affinity with animals strange yet it suited the red-head. 

They travelled along the road towards Wycome, though Falon warned that they were going to cut through the forests to save about a week of travelling. Not to mention, he didn’t want to go into another shemlen city after the fiasco with Laud. Besides he was far more comfortable in the forests. 

Dorian, on the opposite side of the spectrum, wasn’t looking forward to trekking through the woods. The Marches were about as foreign to him as Seheron and only slightly more inviting than the Anderfels. That was about the only thing he was thankful for. Otherwise this would be an even worse trip. 

Falon stopped, looking back at the human. “Are you coming or not?” He asked with a smile. For a moment, Dorian blinked, sure he was going to disappear. Yet he stayed, blood red hair a stark contrast to the greens around them. 

“I’m curious, Falon.” Dorian said, just to try and have conversation. 

“Oh? About what, Peacock?” 

“How far north do your people go? Obviously there are none in the Imperium, for good reason, but what about Rivain or the Anderfels?” the elf waited for Dorian to walk next to him before he continued down their path. 

“No to both those locations.” Falon shook his head. “My Clan as traveled up to the Green Dales before, but that’s about as far north as any of us dare to go. There’s a few Clans in Antiva, but they are little more than bandits.” 

“And the Anderfels are…?” 

“Inhospitable and the Grey Wardens’. Not much area for a wandering Clan, too close to the Imperium, and beyond desolate.” Falon shrugged. Aerah had spoken of the Anderfels once. She was summoned there to receive her new title as Warden Commander of Ferelden. The way she spoke of it was like there was nothing but mountains, cold, and rocks. 

“I wouldn’t recommend the place either.” Dorian joked. 

“You’ve been there?” 

“Once when I was younger. My father has business there and took me along. The people were very…stoic and cold much like their mountains. I doubt many would tolerate the Dalish.” 

“Not many people do.” Falon bumped their shoulders together playfully. “Anything else?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know, is there anything I should be aware of?” 

“Yes, my Clan will most likely point many arrows at you when we find them. Try not to take it personally.” Falon winced as the man blinked like that was the most obscene sentence he had ever heard. 

“Right, I’ll be sure not to take them wanting to murder me personally.” Dorian shook his head. Again, why did this have to be complicated? 

“Well, we’ve learned not to trust shemlen. And we aren’t like other Clans that would just shoot you on sight at least. But don’t worry, I’ll be right there.” He brushed against him again. “I promise nothing bad will happen.” 

“I just feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” Dorian scoffed. 

***** 

They spent a few days on the road, camping just off it. But then Falon found a good spot in the forest and they were suddenly surrounded by towering trees. And bugs. There were a lot of bugs. And animals. 

And Dorian just wished to be back in the Imperium. It was warmer for one, not one night went by that he wasn’t freezing or fearing it would rain on them or an animal would wander into camp despite Falon’s wards. Plus back home, he could have just taken a horse from the stables and be set. All this walking was beyond murderous to both of them. The first night Falon’s feet were torn after years of walking on stone rather than forest floor and Dorian was beyond sore. Falon was still high spirits though, offering to turn into a hart and let Dorian ride him. Which the human wasn’t sure if that was a sexual joke or an actual offer. 

In fact, nothing seemed to deter the elf from smiling. He was home, in a place he knew every which way. Dorian was glad to see him so happy, of course, but at the cost of his own personal happiness. Not that the elf noticed it much. Or if he did, he tried his hardest to make the human forget it, telling him he was just homesick. 

It was in one of these moods that Dorian found himself as they trekked through the early morning mist up a hill. He had quickly learned that Marcher mornings were freezing cold especially when there was mist, so he kept his coat close against his body as he followed the elf. Falon was either used to it, or he could care less about the weather. 

“Come on, Peacock don’t make me leave you behind.” He laughed nearly to the top already. Dorian grumbled something under his breath, using his staff to help balance him. 

“How are you so chipper in the morning?” The human grumbled. “It’s unnatural.” 

Falon walked back to meet him, grabbing his hand away from his coat. “Because I enjoy watching you be so miserable.” He entwined their fingers. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He tugged, motioning up the hill. Dorian could only sigh his displeasure as he followed along. 

When they crested the hill, they could see miles ahead of them. Nothing but trees, what looked to be a river, and some mountains between them and the horizon where there was a faint trace of a city. 

“That’s Wycome off in the distance.” The elf pointed to the city. “Should only take us a week to get there now, barring any interruptions.” 

“Thank the Maker.” Dorian sighed happily earning an eye roll. “Is that what you wanted to show me?” 

“Not at first, but I figured you need a goal in sight to stop your complaining.” Falon chuckled. “Look there.” He pointed to the east. Dorian squinted, looking through the mist. He could only see trees and a mountain or was that just a hill? There had to be something more than that, right? 

“What?” He asked, not seeing anything but forest. 

“That.” Falon smiled, again pointing somewhere in the distance. 

“What that?” 

“That that.” 

“You’re absolutely, completely, unequivocally detestable, you know that right?” Dorian growled as he glared at the elf’s teasing smile. Falon snickered before moving to stand behind the Altus. He pointed over his shoulder. 

“You see that mountain?” Dorian nodded. “If you look real hard you’ll see something white on it.” Dorian squinted again. The only white he saw was the damn weather. But then he saw something that didn’t shift and looked solid. 

“What is it?” 

“An old elven ruin. We aren’t sure what it was, but it’s built on the side of a mountain. There’s this huge waterfall that runs over it too. That’s where we’re headed.” 

Dorian blinked. “Isn’t Wycome over there?” he pointed west. 

“Yes. But my clan would have stopped at the ruin before continuing on.” 

“So what you are saying is this trip just got extended?” Dorian whined. 

“Just by a day or so.” Falon kissed the corner of the human’s jaw. “And you get a bath, so added bonus.” Dorian could only snort in response. Why did he agree to this? Why couldn’t they just have taken a ship to Wycome rather than Ostwick? Right because there was only a ship bound for Ostwick that week. “Come let’s get into the trees and find a suitable place to rest for my shemlen.” 

Dorian ignored the soft feeling his heart gave. He should have been offended by the word, but the elf said it so sweetly it couldn’t have been anything but. And that was just odd. 

***** 

It took one full day of walking to reach the ruin with just enough time to set up camp. The old bones of the ruin loomed about, the forest reclaiming much of it. But they were nestled in a relatively safe spot. It might have been a hallway or something, perhaps just a path lined with walls. It kept the wind off them and that was all that mattered to the Altus. 

He sat near the fire. He had gotten used to all this walking, his muscles no longer aching. They hurt sure, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t move again. He watched as Falon fixed them dinner, a rabbit he managed to catch that day and some tea as usual. Dorian wouldn’t complain about the meat being burnt or lacking spices, he had quickly found that walking around like they were anything would taste good if he got to sit and eat it. 

“We can stay here tomorrow, if you want.” Falon offered as he turned the rabbit. Dorian looked at him oddly. “You seem really tired is all. We can take a rest tomorrow. There’s plenty of food and wood around here, so we should be safe.” 

“Aren’t we supposed to find your Clan as soon as possible?” Dorian asked over the crackle of the fire. 

Falon gave him a soft smile, the fire giving his eyes a golden glint. “Not if it ends up breaking you, Peacock. Sides I’d like a break just as much as you.” There was a hidden meaning in his words, but Dorian’s mind was exhausted and didn’t want to try and figure it out. Instead he just nodded. 

“Very well, if it means I can sleep passed dawn.” 

***** 

The tent was empty when Falon started to wake up. Absently he patted the bedroll next to him, only to find it cold. He furrowed his eyebrows before prying one eye open. Sure enough Dorian wasn’t there. 

Birds were chirping loudly outside the tent, and there was no fire crackling. For a moment, Falon’s groggy mind worried the human had been eaten by a bear while he stepped away from camp. He sat up rubbing his eyes, trying to push such thoughts away. 

Then he heard a string of Tevene curses. Without really thinking, he sprang out of the tent, worse possible scenarios running through his mind. The camp was deserted though there was fresh wood in the firepit. Falon focused his magic into his ears and nose, letting his wolf take over. 

Very quickly he was able to pick up Dorian’s scent and follow it. What he found wasn’t the mess of mage entrails he had thought to find, but rather a half-submerged Dorian. Falon’s mind stuttered to a halt, his magic leaving his senses. 

He wasn’t so groggy his mind couldn’t imagine the half that was hidden from view by the dark water. His cheeks started to heat up, thinking more than a few dirty thoughts that all end with one of them inside the other. 

Dorian seemed to notice the elf’s presence, though he didn’t turn to see him. “Good you are finally up, I was afraid I’d have to dump you in this frigid water.” He complained as he began to wash himself. 

Falon’s mouth moved to speak, but he was having a hard time snapping out of his daze. So the only thing he could think to say was, “It’s water from a mountain, Peacock, of course it’s going to be cold.” 

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Dorian shot back, finally turning to the elf. He quickly noticed the elf’s breathing and flustered look. “Enjoying the view from there, are we?” He teased. 

The elf’s face flushed more, “Very much so.” Falon averted his eyes to try and get control of his head again. 

“Perhaps you care to join me?” Dorian offered when the elf continued to look around. “Or if you rather just stand there and admire, that is fine too. I do have a striking profile.” The Dalish finally met his eyes. They got a mischievous glint to them, knowing the human was teasing him. 

“Your profile was not what I was imagining.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow as the elf’s eyes wandered to where his hips disappeared into the water. “And what was it that you were imagining exactly? Perhaps I can help clarify.” Falon sucked in a breath, his breathing getting heated. He stood still, caught between two very different urges. One to just strip and take the human. And the other to go back to camp and hide. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to explore every aspect of Dorian in the most primal way possible. His logic was getting in the way, however. His back was still injured. He wasn’t entirely positive he could keep images and memories from coming up and ruining it all. He was frightened of giving up control again. 

His mind knew Dorian would go only as far as Falon allowed, but he had thought that before and had been proven very wrong. So he looked away, struggling with himself about what he wanted. “Have you had breakfast yet, ma’revas?” He asked suddenly. 

Dorian blinked. Something was bothering the elf, though he knew he couldn’t help him with it. It was something inside him that brought the tormented look on his face. “No, I have not.” He decided against noting the subject change. 

“I shall…see about making you some while you…enjoy your bath.” Falon turned away, barely hearing Dorian’s voice over the blood in his ears. 

“As you wish.” 

***** 

Falon didn’t talk much during the day, still fighting inside himself. Dorian pretended not to notice or be upset about it. There was apparently a boundary here and he had already toed it. He didn’t want to cross it unless Falon was going to too. 

But by evening, he was starting to worry he had already crossed the line and made the elf shut down. It was almost like when they first met again, only much less hatred. It was unsettling to say the least. 

“Are you alright, Falon?” he asked after their dinner. Falon had taken his bath shortly before it, so he was drying out near the fire, close enough for Dorian to feel, but without touching him. 

The elf startled. He blinked many times as though coming out of a daze. “I’m fine, just thinking.” He offered quietly. He shook his head, trying to clear it. 

“You must be having a thrilling thought then,” Dorian quipped. The elf glanced at him before sighing. 

“Not really…I was just…I’m confused.” Falon finally gave. He glared at the flames again, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin on them. 

“Oh?” Dorian kept quiet, letting the elf work through his mind. 

“I want you. Elgar’nan knows I do, but I’m afraid it’s not for the right reasons.” Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. That was far from what he had expected. 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” 

“Sometimes when I close my eyes, I’m still with Kalor, but even the once good memories make me feel…unclean. And when I feel like that I want something to take that away.” He finally met Dorian’s eyes with troubled eyes. “I want you to take it away. But then I think, isn’t that using you? And isn’t it a stupid, silly idea that anything could make things right again?” 

Dorian wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Not that anyone he knew would know how to respond to such a thing. But the elf seemed so despondent that he felt he needed to answer him. “I don’t think it’s using me if I get something out of it as well. Moreover, so long as that’s not the only reason…” 

Falon frowned. “And what exactly would you get out of it? A broken elf?” 

Dorian narrowed his eyes slightly, sitting up straighter. He reached out and grabbed the elf by the waist to pull him closer. “I don’t see you as broken. We both have our own issues, demons to face and whatnot. And that’s fine, yes?” The elf was stiff against Dorian’s side before he sighed and leaned heavily against him. “As for what I would gain aside from an end to this eternal tease you seem fond of.” 

“Eternal tease?” Falon questioned as he laid his head against Dorian’s shoulder. This felt nice, he thought. Like they had always been this way, like this was normal. 

“You flirt and then stop, you start, then walk away. I understand, of course, given your history. But it is rather maddening for the object of your flirtations.” Dorian stopped for a moment as the elf shifted again. “Sometimes it is quite hard to stop, frustrating too. Other times, I think I’ve crossed that line and you’re going to shut me out. And I’m not sure which I would rather have.” 

“Ir abelas for not making up my mind.” Falon’s fingers began to play with one of the buckles on Dorian’s chest absently as he thought. Did he only want Dorian in hopes to not feel so useless and sullied? He felt safe with him, at peace, free. He felt like his heart was once again open and he could see things in a different way. He still had those little invasive thoughts, but they weren’t all he thought about like he had in the beginning. 

“Perhaps rather than thinking you are using me…” Dorian’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You can think of it as letting me help you.” Dorian wasn’t sure if that came out right. He had absolutely no experience with these conversations, but he didn’t want Falon to go back to being Sicarius. 

Falon sat up to look at him confusedly. “Help me?” Last he checked, sex wasn’t exactly helping someone other than getting rid of an erection that is. 

Dorian shifted a bit, trying to gather his thoughts. “I can’t make what happened to you right or go away. We both know that. But maybe I can…” He stopped not knowing how to explain himself. How do you say you can at least make you forget for a little while without being overly sappy? “I don’t know what, but maybe I can help in some way.” He gave up with a loud sigh. 

Falon watched him for a moment. He supposed that could work. It wasn’t much of a difference and he’d still probably feel bad afterwards, but it was a start. Falon smirked. “Now who’s being the sappy one?” 

Dorian snorted. “You have rubbed off on me, amatus.” Again the word slipped out and he froze. Falon thought it was rather funny how the Altus locked up. He obviously needed to be retrained. And he happened to have an idea on how to do just that. The elf’s smile got larger before he kissed his jaw. 

The human blinked at the sudden change in mood. This elf was going to be the death of him surely, he thought as the feather-light kisses turned into little nips and sucks. Still, he wouldn’t complain. Then as quickly as he started, he stopped pulling back. Dorian pouted. 

Falon laughed. “Say it again.” 

“Beg pardon?” 

“I told you I would make you like saying it, and I will. So say it again.” Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, trying to recall such a conversation. He vaguely remembered it. 

“You mean amatus?” Just as the last syllable left his lips, the elf started working his neck again. He was definitely going to have a mark there tomorrow, but strangely didn’t care. “So that’s your game.” He breathed as fingers started to undo his buckles. The elf hummed against his skin. Both their skins started to heat up. 

The elf continued to tease until he found the soft spot just above Dorian’s vein. He stopped when he felt the human jump. Dorian waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He just hovered there, letting his breath fan over the skin, like he was awaiting a command. 

This was both childish and cruel to the human. With great reluctance, he spoke, his body just wanting more. “Amatus?” Falon returned to sucking at the spot, drawing out a low moan. All the while, his fingers were undoing the buckles on Dorian’s torso. When they were all gone, he pushed the garment away, tracing patterns over the now-sensitive skin. “You are being very cruel, you know that yes?” 

“Am I?” Falon mumbled against his skin before raising his head to smile at the human. “I could stop, if you so wish.” Even as he said it, his hand skimmed the hem of his pants. 

“Don’t you dare, _amatus_ ” he growled the word in a challenge. He was rewarded with that hand pressing against his hardening cock. 

“Ma nuvenin.” Their lips met, tongues entangling. As they explored each other’s mouths, Falon’s hand experimented with different pressures, areas, or movements. Just to find how best to make the human moan. 

It was entirely unfair, of course. So Dorian managed to gain enough of his mind to undo Falon’s shirt. The elf shivered as it was slid off his shoulders. He broke the kiss for air. His heart pounded against his chest for entirely different reasons. Suddenly this seemed like a new thing to him like he was a virgin again. But he was going to be damned if he stopped now. 

“Perhaps we should move…elsewhere.” His turquoise eyes flickered to their tent before meeting Dorian’s silver. Their pants fanned over each other’s faces. Their lips grazed, tempting and taunting the other to be the first to move. 

A small little thought flickered into Dorian’s mind as the elf shivered again, this time from his fingers teasing the skin just above his pants. Falon’s back was still injured. “Amatus,” It came out far more breathless than he’d hoped, “your back.” 

Falon kept him from saying more, slipping his tongue back into the human’s mouth. For once, his skin was becoming feverish, the heat pooling in his stomach. Dorian’s mind blanked out, as he rolled his hips into Falon’s hand. Their moans vibrated through their mouths. 

When they pulled back, Dorian tried again, the elf starting to stand up. “Your back is still—“ 

“You are assuming I’ll be on my back.” Interrupted him. Falon looked down on him with a breathtakingly lustful smile. The moonlight gave him a silver halo, the fire a heated glow. His eyes flashed dangerously, lighting up like a cat’s. 

He bent down and grabbed Dorian’s arm, tugging for him to follow him. The Altus couldn’t help but smile as he obliged. “You aren’t assuming that I’ll be bottom are you?” Falon pulled him flush against him when they got to their tent. Their hips pressed together. Dorian felt he wasn’t the only one straining as they disappeared inside. 

“You’ll like it, I swear.” 

***** 

Dorian awoke to Falon gently shaking him. The human groaned in protest, turning over on his side and burying his head under the blankets. For a moment it seemed that deterred the elf. What he couldn’t see however was the wicked grin that spread quickly over the elf’s face. 

If the man didn’t want to wake up that was fine, Falon had ways to remedy that. Using his subtle Keeper’s magic, he frosted his hand. Careful not to disturb the blankets too much, he slipped under them to cuddle against the human’s back. 

“Wake up, ma’revas.” He whispered. His hand quickly pressed against the sensitive skin of Dorian’s lower back. The human shot awake, arching his back and scrambling away at the same time. Falon snickered to himself as he met Dorian’s scowl. 

“Barbarian.” He growled. 

“Well it’s time to pack up camp and leave. Next time wake up when I ask and I wouldn’t have to resort to tricks.” Falon sat up as Dorian stretched. He took the opportunity to admire the human’s muscles that he was too busy to notice last night. Dorian of course noticed the staring. 

“Are you getting a good look? Or should I perhaps do this in the sunlight?” He chuckled. 

Falon laughed. “This is fine. Call me selfish but I don’t want to share you with the forest right now.” The Altus supposed that was some elven flirt again, though it still made him smirk. “Come, get dressed, we’ve a ways to go.” Falon turned to his pack and began to dress himself again, only stopping when he felt Dorian’s hand rest against one of the still healing marks on his back. 

This had become a ritual of a sorts. Dorian would heal one into a faint line again, and then just stroke it like he was trying erase its memory. At first Falon had jumped and winced feeling anyone’s hands on his back, but he quickly adjusted to it. He stopped the instinct to protect his back at all costs. In fact, he felt like his back was protected. 

“So this is supposed to be a raven?” Dorian asked suddenly, tracing the faint red lines he could find under the lash marks. 

Falon nodded as he began to comb his hair since Dorian didn’t seem to be done with him. “The symbol of Dirthamen.” The human made a noise to show he heard, but just continued to try and figure out how these lines were a bird. 

“I suppose this could be the…wings.” He traced the lines curving up before travelling lower. Falon shivered “And these must be the tail feathers?” 

“Are you just trying to distract me into letting you sleep longer?” Falon mumbled, looking over his shoulder. 

Dorian smirked. “I was thinking of something a bit more…primal to wake me up.” He kissed Falon’s lips, hands moving to his front. They broke for a moment, “It’s the least you could do after such a dirty trick.” Deft fingers undid his trousers. 

“You…are what’s the word you used? Unsufferable?” Falon nearly moaned as Dorian slipped his hand under his clothes. The human chuckled, biting the sensitive tip of the elf’s ear. 

“Insufferable, amatus.” Falon’s mind flashed white as his cock was given a teasing stroke. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be enjoying this.” 

The elf glared over his shoulder, ignoring his urge to rock his hips against the human’s hand. They really did need to leave soon. Free Marcher falls were notorious for being stormy and Falon didn’t want to get caught in one such storm unless they had a cave or something far more sturdy than a tent. 

Yet he was quickly losing the logic battle, heat coiling in his stomach. “Fine,” he growled, leaning against the human heavily. “But this had better not become a habit of yours.” Dorian laughed, giving the elf a much firmer stroke as a reward. 

“Of course, amatus. So long as your tricks don’t become a habit of yours.” 

***** 

A few days later they were taking refuge near a hollowed out tree. Their tent was the only thing between them and the downpour. Lightning flashed brightly against the gloom, thunder rolling around as they lay inside with the rabbit fur blankets Falon had made. 

His back was completely healed now and he was enjoying it. He sat between Dorian’s legs, his back against the man’s chest slowly dozing off as they sat against the back part of the tent. Dorian was examining his slave bands. He had tried a few times to get them off, but his father must have changed the spell or did something to it. 

“It makes me wonder what other idiotic ideas ran through his head, though.” Dorian grumbled as the ring would not budge. Falon merely hummed to show he had heard him, but it was quite obvious he was falling asleep. 

He, however, startled awake at a loud crash of thunder. The Altus chuckled, wrapping his arms around the elf. “Afraid of a little storm?” Falon shifted, his heart stuttering back to its original beat. 

“Hardly, I just don’t like thunder interrupting my nap.” He closed his eyes again, listening to the rain beat down on their shelter. He was just about to drop off when something that wasn’t the weather came to his ears. 

It sounded like something running. Something heavy and metal. Almost instantly Falon shot up, staring at the tent flap. Dorian jumped, but stayed still as the elf’s back tensed. Neither made a sound. Before long, Dorian could hear something over the rain as well. And it sounded like it was coming for their camp. 

They looked at each other. Did they really want to go out there? They’d likely catch their deaths. But if someone was running towards them, they couldn’t exactly stay hidden. Unless the person was just in a blind panic really. 

Falon’s fingers found his daggers; Dorian found his staff as they strained to hear something more. For a moment it seemed like time stood still. 

“Stay away!” shattered the silence. Before either could really comprehend the shriek, Falon had bolted out of the tent. It was the voice of a young child. His Keeper instincts just took over as he looked around the forest. His magic diverted into his ears, letting him hear, over the thunder, footsteps breaking twigs and walking over leaves. 

He ran straight for them, not really thinking ‘hey they’re running from something that could kill me’. Dorian, however, had that thought as he followed closely behind. But he wasn’t going to let the elf attempt suicide alone. He found it hard to keep up with someone who jumped over fallen limbs with the ease of a deer, but somehow he was managing. 

Falon had to skid to a stop as he nearly collided with a young girl. Her brown eyes were wide with fear. She was human, but still shorter than the elf who grabbed her shoulders to keep either of them from colliding. For a moment they just stared at each other before she tried squirm away. 

“Hey, hey, easy. I’m not going to hurt you.” Falon tried to coax her. 

“Excuse me if I don’t believe a barbaric knife ear.” She hissed as she glared. Dorian came into view with his frown as he panted. Falon let his face show his displeasure. “Unhand me.” She sounded like some privileged shemlen as she attempted to squirm away. Falon released her. 

“You know, those are fighting words to many of my People.” He warned. She glared, her freckled face flushed from the cold rain. She shivered harshly, her robes in tatters around her ankles. 

“What are you doing out here?” Dorian asked as she looked warily at him. She was obviously trying to figure out if he was friend or foe and why he was with an elf. Still she moved closer to him as though willing to trust him more than Falon.“We don’t bite, just so you know.” 

She opened her mouth, but shouts started coming from the forest behind her. Falon could smell metal. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn’t like this. Every nerve in his body felt danger. 

“We should go.” Right as the words left his mouth, an arrow whistled through the trees. The girl cried out, the arrow lodging into her leg. 

“Or not.” Dorian quipped as he caught the girl from falling. Instantly he felt Falon cast a barrier spell over them. Roots crawled up his legs, connecting him to the forest’s heartbeat. His magic pulsed in sync and soon his heart did as well. His mind felt the woods. 

Loud metal feet struck her floor, trampling roots and bushes without a care. Each footstep was like thunder inside his head. But he turned to where they came from. Dorian pulled the girl to a tree, placing her on the other side before taking up a stance near Falon. This would be interesting, he thought. 

He couldn’t stand too close to the elf as a mess of thorny plants were beginning to grow around him, but even from his distance he could feel the elf pulsing with magic. “Three armored people.” Falon whispered, pointing in the direction he felt them. 

Within a minute three Templars came upon them. For a moment they were stunned to see the two rather than the girl. That didn’t last long. 

“Apostates!” One yelled as he noticed Dorian’s staff and Falon’s magic. The elf stiffened as the trio dropped into a battle stance. One archer and two warriors, all intent on killing them. None of them moved, waiting for that first strike. Both Dorian and Falon were now soaked through their clothes which didn’t help. Part of their minds were focused on the fight, another on being cold. 

Then a warrior ran forward with his blade ready to strike and suddenly they weren’t cold. Falon’s magic flicked roots up. They tangled in his feet but did little damage. The elf rose a dagger in time to keep the sword from tearing into him. Metal grated against each other before he threw a mindblast and staggered the warrior. Dorian shot at the archer with his staff. 

The other warrior stalked forward getting caught in the thorns as well. He had to stop once to hack away a root that latched on to him. Falon hissed feeling like a part of him was being cut off. Dorian made flames erupt around the Templar as Falon gathered his magic. Vines shot out of him, a shockwave pushing them off their feet. 

Ambient magic suddenly shot to the elf. He pressed into his body, letting the vines wither and die. He pressed his cells, morphing them into individual bugs. It always hurt more when he shifted into a non-mammal, but bugs could dissipate and then swarm. 

He moved to cover the first warrior, stinging and biting. What skin he couldn’t get, he crawled through tiny cracks in his armor. The man frantically swung his sword about, hoping to hit something. But the air currents moved Falon out of the way before anything could be damaged. 

Dorian made a note to himself to ask how Falon learned to be bugs as he put up another barrier. Chain lightning surged through the already charged air, arching into the second warrior. Dorian glanced behind him. The girl had crawled over the tree roots to get that attack in. 

He would be mad at her later, but for that moment he was glad to have some reprieve from defending himself. A well placed fire rune brought a fiery end to the archer. The Altus smiled to himself before focusing on the other warrior. Falon was handling himself quite well after all. 

The warrior stalked forward, holding his shield up to deflect Dorian’s attacks. Even his fireball was deflected and fizzled out in the rain. The Altus took several steps back, beginning to pant. A flick of the wrist brought an explosion from under the Templar’s feet. The smell of burning hair nearly made him throw up as the warrior regained his footing. 

Suddenly Dorian felt like the air in his lungs was being taken. Literally taken from him. Invisible hands shoved inside him and tore it out. It made his head spin. His fire died around the Templar, all his strength started to disappear. 

Falon felt a familiar prickle against his magic like something was tearing at it. He pulled back from the warrior, returning to his two-legged form. His poison started to take a hole of the other warrior, his breathing becoming ragged. Soon he wouldn’t be a threat. Falon’s eyes instantly found Dorian as he struggled to stand. 

Anger shot through his system. He had just found his peace again, and he sure wasn’t going to let some crazed Templar take it away. He logically knew he couldn’t use his magic in the field of the spell purge, but emotionally he just wanted to freeze the man’s ass and shatter it into tiny pieces. 

He settled for charging the man’s open flank and knocking him to the ground. His sword clattered away as Falon tried to wrestle the armored Templar. He wasn’t built for strength, but his fury allowed him to stay on top. Soon the man’s helmet was ripped away and Falon landed a punch to his jaw. 

Dorian took deep breaths, barely comprehending the sight of the Dalish engaged in a fist fight with a Templar. An armored hand slammed against the elf’s head, pushing him off. For a moment Dorian felt sheer disgust. He remembered when they had first met and he had been shocked and lashed. He didn’t want to see the elf like that again. 

The Altus’s magic was slowly returning, but he still only managed to fire off a magic bolt. The Templar staggered a little as he was trying to get up. Falon was far quicker on his feet. The human looked behind him and then at Dorian, seeing he was pretty much surrounded. The man seemed to be about to run when two arrows pierced his left eye. 

Both of them blinked as the man gurgled before hitting the forest floor. Falon looked at the arrows and knew instantly to relax. He looked at the forest as he started to shiver from the rain. “Andran’atishan.” He called, motioning for Dorian to lower his staff. 

For a moment, nothing moved. The girl was crying quietly, but little else could be heard over the rain. Then two Dalish hunters emerged seemingly from nowhere. They looked at Falon and Dorian warily. The female had a fresh vallaslin on her face, lines still black, while the man’s pale blue was aged by a few years. Not that anyone but a Keeper could really tell. 

“Aneth era, lethallin.” The man spoke first. The woman kept her eyes on Dorian as he bent down to check on the young girl. “Nice work fending off those vultures.” 

Falon smiled, “Templars have been bothering your Clan lately?” 

The pair shifted. “They destroyed our Clan.” The woman said quietly. “We and a few children are all that’s left.” 

Falon’s heart hurt hearing that. The Dalish were few and far between. Even one less Clan devastated their People. “Ir abelas.” Was all he could say. He walked over to the girl and knelt down to look at her wound. The arrowhead had entered from the back of her thigh and pierced the other side. Which was better than if it had not. “Hold her arms for me, Dorian.” He muttered. 

The Altus did as he was told, not sure he knew how to heal something like this. Falon snapped the fletching off. “Don’t worry, I’ve healed many arrow wounds before.” He assured her as he gripped the bloody shaft. “This is going to hurt like hell though, but it’s better to do it quickly.” The girl looked frightened. But she still nodded. “Deep breath.” As she sucked the air in, Falon pulled the shaft through her leg. Her scream made all their ears ache, but the First wasn’t phased as he pressed his hands against both holes. Blood coursed through his fingers. His magic could sense power in it, a familiar buzz. It was very easy to fall into blood magic’s thrall. 

But Falon ignored the call. He gathered his magic, pressing it into her cells. He bade the wound draw close. It took a little coaxing to get her magic to let him go through, but after he got passed it was simple. A soft green glow wrapped around her leg, far brighter in the dark forest. 

The girl passed out, but her leg was healed. It’d be weak for a few days, but he doubted she’d have lasting damage. 

“You are very talented,” The woman stated as Falon sat back. 

“I had a good teacher is all.” He smiled before looking over the girl. There was no doubt she was from a Circle. She was ghastly thin, and might surely catch a cold if they did not get her somewhere warm soon. “We should move her some place dry.” 

“We can take her back to camp, I suppose.” Dorian sighed. It wasn’t like they could leave her out here. She looked to be barely twelve. He doubted she had ever had to live on her own before all this happened. Falon nodded. 

“There is a refugee camp not far from here,” The Dalish man spoke up. “We could escort you there.” 

“A refugee camp?” Dorian snorted. “All the way out here?” 

The two hunters shifted again, like they didn’t like talking to the human. But the woman narrowed her eyes and spoke. “Aye, a young First set it up to help those fleeing the conflict. It has good food, good healers, and dry beds.” 

“They’d welcome two more healers I’m sure,” The man looked at Dorian skeptically. The Altus frowned but then looked to his companion. 

“It’s up to you, amatus. I’m following your lead in your Maker-forsaken forest.” 

Falon smiled as he chuckled. “They aren’t forsaken, ma’revas.” 

“I swear the roots purposefully try to trip me.” 

“Perhaps you should ask the trees to stop. Nicely.” Dorian glared as the elf snickered. “Well it beats being trying to start our own fire. Maybe they have news of my Clan.” Falon nodded. “We’ll have to go back to our camp for our things…” 

“Nevaria can escort you. I will take the girl back.” The man said calmly as he knelt beside the young girl. He looked sad as he carefully gathered her into his arms. Falon could sense he had lost someone, just from a familiar glint in his eyes. 

Nevaria, as the woman was called, frowned but didn’t protest. She didn’t say a word as she followed them back through the trees to their small camp. And if she disapproved of the single tent, she didn’t comment. It was rather eerie actually. Dorian’s neck hairs were standing on end as she just lurked. 

Still they packed up their camp with haste as the heavens seemed to dump buckets over them. When they had their packs on their shoulders, Nevaria grunted and started to lead them through the trees. 

They trekked through the forest rather quickly as all of them were starting to feel the icy grip of the weather from their soaked clothes. Dorian in particular was miserable. He was starting to lose control over his digits. He just numbly gripped his staff and prayed his legs would keep working. Falon stayed close to him. 

The elf was used to working in poor conditions. He once had to mend an aravel in a blizzard. That was the hell of hells. 

Still even he was relieved to see tents through a break in the trees. And some aravels’ sails. Though the red fabrics were highly weathered and he doubted they were in any condition to move, they were still a welcomed sight. 

As they got closer, they saw some people moving about. They were trying to put up tarps over some of the thinner tents. Others were carrying crates of bottles. Others still were collecting water in bowls before disappearing into one of several tents. 

“Nevaria you’ve returned!” Came a familiar yet new voice. Falon cocked his head to the side as he looked to a young Dalish woman bounding up to them. Her short black hair had many braids in it that bounced with each step. “Your father said you’d gone to…” She stopped, staring at Falon in bewilderment. “Falon’dir?” 

Suddenly he remembered one of the gathering of the Clans. It was in the Emerald Graves that time. His Clan had arrived early along with the Sabre Clan from Ferelden. He remembered it was the one time his grandmother let him run off and play with the other children rather than practice. 

He had met his young cousin then. And her friends Tamlen and… 

“Merrill?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait dears, life caught up to me. The next chapter was going to be short, but I felt the need to update so it'll be a bit longer as what was supposed to be the ending to this chapter is tacked on. I do hope to have it up by this weekend so you won't be in suspense for long. Pray that life does not catch up to me again.
> 
> One more chapter and we get to the Inquisition!!! Next part is called Magisters and Keepers for those who haven't bookmarked the series.
> 
> My plan is that we'll have one chapter at the beginning (because Falon'dir would react differently from the canon) and then we skip ahead to Redcliffe because Falon's story is basically centered on his relationship with Dorian and other Tevinters. Plus I'm adding in a part to make up for the lack of beginning stuff, and to tie up all my loose ends or you know annihilate them with a flame thrower...I like to do that...
> 
> Sounds good yeah?


	17. The Sins of an Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little author's note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever get the real last chapter out, I'll delete this, and put it in the end notes, promise. All things considering I do have a lot done of the last chapter, just no motivation to do the rest.

Confession time. It's been awhile, hasn't it? Over a year in fact. And it's been so long since I've updated, I kind of wanted to at least explain to people why this will most likely not get finished. 

Originally I was going to juggle Nothing and PaW, alternating chapters. Obviously that didn't happen and the reason comes down to simple logistics. PaW in the year it's been up, has around 4000+ views. Which is good. Until we look over at Nothing, which has over 12,000+. That's triple this story. So I had to ask myself, was this tiny story worth it? Hardly anyone commented, it got maybe 50 views with a new chapter, and one bookmark once in a blue moon? Sure, Aeantiz, but it is 208 pages long, that counts for something right? Not really. Nothing is 500+, excluding notes, backstories, timelines, and codexes. 

So no it wasn't worth fighting writer's blocks and my tendency to zone off into other things. It wasn't worth investing time into it because no one invested time into reading it. I get discouraged very easily from things that I love (and I do love this story, I might have forgotten a lot of things about it, but I know where I wanted to take it). It wasn't worth making myself feel terrible because it sat unattended for so long. 

So I pushed it aside. I only dusted it off because I needed a heavy dose of fluff in my life right now and I CRINGE rereading the chapters. I see why no one really read this, it was crap writing. But I can't really fix it without rewriting the entire thing, which isn't exactly a motivator. 

Now I might be able to finish the last chapter, but the writing will be different. I've worked my ass off for Nothing, piecing everything just right, and experimenting with things. You can't take on that big of a story without growing. But the story will be finished. Eventually. 

That said, the sequel, Magisters and Keepers, will most likely never exist. Sorry. If this thing within the next year reaches 10,000 views (my impossible goal for this story), I'll consider it. So if you really want MaK, share it, comment, do whatever you want, but I'm not investing my time and effort into something that grows dusty. I'm picking my battles, and this battle is sort of a Forgotten Skirmish. 

If it's any consolation, Thick of Thieves is taking a back burner to Nothing too. That story has taken over my life completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave constructive criticism in the comments. No arguing or bashing or anything done in rage or trolling. Words may not break my bones, but they can burn my heart (paraphrasing a poet there ;). )


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